Unforgivable
by Apothecaria
Summary: NEW CHAPTER: Severus is released from St. Mungo's, fetches his memories from Harry, and helps Minerva with a sticky drawer in her desk.
1. Chapter 1

"Surely we're not _obligated_ to perform Unforgivables?" asked Williamson, sounding at once apologetic and defiant.

Dawlish and Moody stopped in their tracks. The interdepartmental memos that had been flitting behind the heads of the three men as they strode in swift silence down the Ministry corridor swooped high, almost skimming the stone ceiling, and were soon out of sight as the Aurors turned to face each other.

"What's this then?" asked Dawlish in the reasonable tone edged with aggression he usually reserved for interrogations.

"You're not obligated to do anything," snarled Moody. "Except your job. Fail to do that properly, and there are consequences." He scratched his damaged nose.

"My job is what I'm thinking of," said Williamson. "If an interrogation goes pear-shaped, you think Crouch won't blame us? A man that ambitious isn't going to be above sacking a few Aurors if he thinks he stands a better chance at the Minister's job."

Dawlish nodded. "That's not unreasonable."

Moody rolled his eyes. "Not you, too!"

"Think of it. Say we use the Cruciatus curse on an especially stubborn prisoner and he dies. On autopsy they find the fractured limbs, the tongue bitten clean through, vital organs pierced with broken ribs; you know, the usual. The public might lose its taste for...how did Albus Dumbledore put it?"

"'Lowering ourselves to this level of brutality will mean that the enemy has conquered us from within,'" quoted Williamson.

"Read the paper every day, do you?" snapped Moody. "If one of these scum dies, who do you think will care? Take this one we're seeing today, for instance. Renounced by his own mother, and not a friend in the world after we took care of the bloke who did this." He tapped his nose next to the area where a large chunk was missing, the damaged part still pink with newly regenerated skin. "If we kill You-Know-Who's master poisoner, surely the entire wizarding world will breathe a sigh of relief before saying good riddance to bad rubbish." Moody turned his back on his colleagues and resumed a rapid pace down the corridor. He was the shortest of the three men, but powerfully built, and the other two men had to break into a brief run to catch up.

"Dumbledore wouldn't be pleased if he died," remarked Dawlish mildly.

Moody nodded. "Yes. Odd, that. By all accounts, though, this bloke is an uncommonly talented Potions maker. I've thought maybe he managed to slip something to old Dumbledore...something that softens the judgement."

"You're not serious!" interjected Williamson.

"Well, Dumbledore's never been an Auror," persisted Moody. "He doesn't have our training in vigilance."

"No, he's only defeated Grindelwald," said Williamson derisively.

"If Dumbledore has a weakness, it's how sentimental he gets about some of his former students," said Dawlish thoughtfully. "If you're a clever lad from a disadvantaged background, he might overlook your bad points."

"Well, he needs to get over it, doesn't he? This former student of his is a very nasty lad indeed. And here we are."

The corridor running through the Ministry's holding centre had brought them outside one of the cells with security measures reserved for high-risk prisoners. Massive Celtic knots of iron overlaid a section of wall in all directions, fastening even between the stone ceiling above, and the stone floor underfoot and obscuring the door completely.

Moody took out his wand.

"Hang on," said Dawlish, turning to Williamson. "If you don't have the stomach to witness an Unforgivable, he will know." He gestured towards the tangled mass of metal knots, indicating the yet-unseen prisoner.

"If we hold back, he'll hold back," said Moody.

"Lives are at stake," said Dawlish. "Back off now if you must, and we can leave it out of the report. Can't we, Alastor?"

Moody rolled his eyes. "We haven't got all day."

"I thought I was only here as an observer," said Williamson.

"But if he senses weakness in any of us..."

"How is it a weakness to express a few reservations?" snapped Williamson. "I hate Death Eater scum much as the next man. But Dumbledore's denunciation of Unforgivables was..."

Moody put a hand on Williamson's arm. "Some advice, son. Dumbledore is a great man. We all hold him in the highest esteem. But if you want to advance in your career at this Ministry, you'd best not esteem him too openly."

Williamson shook his head. "I'm not any good at politics," he said ruefully, eyes downcast.

"No good Auror is," said Moody. "Except maybe Dawlish here."

"I resent that," said Dawlish.

"I'll let you buy me a drink later, then," said Moody. "Right." He turned to face the cell.

A whisper from Moody, and the massive metal knots began to soften, untie, and retreat, eventually disappearing into wherever they attached until the three Aurors were facing a plain rectangular door of brushed steel. Nudging the door, the three men crowded awkwardly into the small room, trying not to get too close either to the prisoner or the latrine bucket in the corner.

The slight figure before them belied such rigourous security. He did not look up as they entered but remained cross-legged on the floor, thin arms protruding from the sleeves of his ragged grey robes, greasy black hair obscuring his face as he slumped forwards.

He looked up, revealing a thin face dominated by a ridiculously large nose, and spread his filthy hands as if in welcome.

"If I'd known you were coming, I'd have made biscuits," he said, and grinned unpleasantly, revealing discoloured and crooked teeth, his cold black eyes glittering like chips of mica.

"We're here to ask you about the latest disappearances," said Moody. "On your feet, then."

"I'd rather sit, actually," retorted the prisoner. "As a Potions master, I spend so much time on my feet."

"Not lately, I'd wager," said Moody, pointing his wand at the prisoner. The man was lifted from the floor and flattened against the wall as if he were a puppet on invisible strings.

Though helplessly pinned, the man smirked at Moody. "Give me my wand back, and I'll show you how to do that properly."

The three Aurors laughed. Moody released the spell, and the man stumbled as he dropped from the wall. Standing before them, he was tall but slight, thin robes close about his body, and younger than he first appeared, a bit gangly, a few spots prominent against his pale complexion. Despite his youth and ragged clothes, there was an aura of authority about him, and he drew himself up with dignity.

"There's been a misunderstanding," he said, suddenly earnest. "Surely Professor Dumbledore explained to Mr Crouch..."

"Mr Crouch has taken Dumbledore's information under advisement," said Dawlish. "If you cooperate with us, we will tell Mr Crouch, and maybe there can be something positive in it for you."

"We don't negotiate with the likes of him," snarled Moody. "Didn't you get the memo?"

"I'm not negotiating with him, Alastor. I'm just telling him like it is," replied Dawlish mildly. "Mr Snape. Or may I call you Severus? If you can tell us where that mother and her children are being held, we may be able to release you immediately."

Severus shook his head. "You have no grounds to hold me. And I don't know what people you mean."

"Told you he wouldn't cooperate," snapped Moody. "Looks like he may need a little encouragement." He poised his wand, pointing it at Severus.

Dawlish stepped between Moody and Severus, holding his hands up to Moody. "We may yet be able to avoid any unpleasantness. Let me refresh his memory." He turned to Severus. "A half-blood mother and her two children disappeared five days ago. Surely you know the story? The Dark Mark was found over their destroyed house, but no human remains were found on the premises."

Severus shrugged. "I believe they made good their escape and are now hiding amongst Muggles."

"That's not good enough!" spat Moody.

Grinning, Severus pointed first at Moody, then at Dawlish. "Have you two thought about taking your show on the road?"

"Insolent little punk!" snarled Moody, snapping his wrist downwards. Severus dropped heavily to his knees and rolled to one side, hissing in pain.

Dawlish knelt beside Severus. "Alastor, now you've gone and fractured his kneecap." He administered a healing charm and lifted him to his feet.

After testing his leg with a careful step, Severus flung Dawlish away. "Don't ever touch me."

"That's not your call to make," snarled Moody.

"Have you any idea at all what happened to Mrs Livesay and her children?" implored Dawlish. "Dumbledore says you're on our side. Don't you think you need to convince more people besides just Dumbledore?"

Severus looked back at Dawlish, his face unreadable. "Very well, then. It was Regulus Black."

"Regulus Black died two weeks ago," said Moody, exasperated.

"That's what you're supposed to think," said Severus. "Actually, he's much more clever than his idiot brother says. After faking his own death, he went to America, where he befriended a Basilisk. He's a Parseltongue, you know. He convinced the Basilisk to come to Camden with him, where it stared the young family to death before devouring their lifeless bodies. And do you know why he did it?"

All three Aurors were staring at Severus as he spoke, and nodded their heads in unison.

"Because Esther...Mrs Livesay...wouldn't go to the Yule Ball with him in sixth year."

Moody approached Severus and stood nose to imposing nose with him. The latter was almost completely impassive, black eyes wide in mock innocence, wearing the faintest of smirks.

"Mr Dawlish..."

"Yes, Mr Moody?"

"The prisoner is irredeemably uncooperative."

The two older Aurors exchanged a look while Williamson frowned in puzzlement. Then Dawlish nodded and Moody raised his wand.

Severus took a step backwards. "I told you the truth!" he protested, voice cracking. For the split second before the curse hit him, his veneer of snide self-assurance slipped away, and he appeared as no more than a frightened, woefully thin young man, barely out of his teens, hopelessly out of his depth.

_"Crucio!" _said Moody. He held the curse until just after its victim, no longer able to catch a breath, stopped screaming.

"The trick is to stop before they lose consciousness. Otherwise, you have to rouse them, and the whole process gets so damnably slow," explained Moody to the other Aurors. Dawlish nodded like an apt pupil, but Williamson stood motionless by the door, his face almost as white as the prisoner's.

Moody knelt before Severus and grasped him by the front of his robes. "Did you have anything you wanted to say?"

"Yes," said Severus weakly through clenched teeth. His legs were still contracted in painful spasms, his hands shaking as he tried to wipe the tears from his face.

Moody leaned closer.

"FUCK YOU!" snarled Severus, and he spat a wad of blood-streaked saliva into Moody's face.

Moody held the curse longer this time, until Severus lost consciousness.

"We'll bring him round roughly, so he knows who's in charge. The only way we'll get anything out of this one is if we break him. _Oi!"_ He kicked Severus hard in the ribs.

Severus rolled over, vomited, and began to choke, his entire body racked with spasms, his face turning more purple with each gurgling breath.

"He's dying!" said Williamson, and rushed past the other two before they could stop him. He'd managed to perform some basic first aid, Vanishing the vomit from Severus' airways and clothing and healing a nasty gash in his tongue before Moody set upon him and dragged him away.

"Idiot!" hissed Moody. "We have Healers for that, and they _always _use a Restraining Charm on a prisoner this dangerous, no matter how ill they appear. Bloody fucking Merlin, _he could have gotten your wand!"_

"I'm not stupid!" Williamson shouted defensively. "My wand is right here." He shook it in Moody's face. "I kept a tight grip on it at all times. _Constant Vigilance, _and all that."

Severus had managed to sit up but was still shaking all over. Spittle ran from the corner of his mouth and dripped onto the front of his robes. His eyes no longer glittered in defiance, but were blank, unfocussed. He wrapped his arms about his knees and began to rock.

"You've driven him mad, Alastor," said Dawlish.

"Bollocks!" snapped Moody. "From just twice? You-Know-Who crucios his lot three times before breakfast if he doesn't like the eggs. He's faking."

"Mr Moody," said Williamson. "I have my wand."

"Yes, yes, we can all see that. Good for you, lad. But maybe you won't be so lucky next time."

"Mr Moody, do you have your wand?"

"But of course I have my..." Moody looked at his empty hands in puzzlement.

"EXPELLIARMUS!" screamed Dawlish.

No-one heard Severus' whispered spell. Then Moody began to scream, and collapsed, blood gushing from his face.

No longer blank-eyed and drooling but grinning, his eyes alive with malice, Severus let his hand go limp, allowing the wand to fly easily away. He continued to grin as Dawlish attached him none too gently to the wall with an elaborate network of magically-reinforced chains while Williamson tried to staunch the flow of blood from the chasm in Moody's face. But the Healing charms only lasted a few seconds before they dissolved like acid, blood gushing forth as before.

"The wounds are cursed!" cried Williamson. "He'll bleed to death." He removed a striped rubber ball from a pocket. _"Portus!" _he whispered, and the ball glowed momentarily. "I'm taking him to St. Mungo's."

"Hang on," said Dawlish. He jammed his wand under Severus' chin almost hard enough to draw blood. "What's the countercurse?"

"There isn't one," said Severus, his voice oddly penetrating even though he could manage no more than a hoarse whisper. "What's the point to a good curse if some tosser goes and cancels it?"

"Go!" said Dawlish to Williamson, giving Severus one last jab for good measure, gratified to see him wince.

The amount of time that passed felt interminable to Severus, though the tiny part of his mind that could always remain objective no matter how grimly dire the circumstances told him slightly over an hour passed before his cell door opened again. Albus Dumbledore entered wordlessly, Vanished his bonds, and caught him as he collapsed, relief flooding through him along with fresh waves of pain. Dumbledore applied a charm that felt like warm syrup being poured over his limbs and torso, and the pain subsided enough for him to be helped to his feet.

Then Dumbledore seized the front of his robes and brought his long and crooked nose close to Severus' own. His blue eyes bored in Severus' with uncomfortable intensity, though Severus knew not to look away.

"The Healers seem to be unable to repair Auror Moody's face. They can barely pour enough Blood-Replenishing potion into him to keep up with what he's losing from that wound. And the damage to the eye is probably irreparable. We are going to St. Mungo's and you are going to help." The older man's gaze turned colder than Severus had ever seen. "If you refuse to administer the countercurse to Auror Moody, I cannot support you any further. Do you understand?"

Severus nodded faintly, too frightened to be angry.

Dumbledore released Severus and made a Port-Key out of one of the lemon drops in his pocket. Turning back to Severus, his eyes resuming some of their customary twinkle, he asked, "There is a countercurse, isn't there, Severus?"

"Of course there is," he croaked. "But..." and he found himself unable to speak further, his voice too damaged by his recent ordeal. Dumbledore offered him a flask and he drank about twelve ounces of water in one draught, stopping only when he needed to breathe, and wiped his mouth. "The Dark Lord never punished anybody for telling stories out of turn," he grumbled.

"Tom doesn't need to," said Dumbledore. "Because his hold on his followers is absolute, he has nothing to fear from stories. People are imaginative, and if they have the freedom to think for themselves, they will speculate on other possible realities. So the Ministry has everything to fear from stories. After all, they have to at least pretend to be democratic." He smiled gently at Severus. "I will explain later. You were saying about Mr Moody?"

"Erm...right...the longer the interval between the curse and the application of the countercurse, the greater the probability of irrevocable damage. He will likely be disfigured and he's probably lost that eye."

Dumbledore regarded him sadly. "They can't say I didn't warn them. Lemon drop?"

"You know I hate those things," said Severus, his voice stronger. He reached for the sweet, and the two men vanished.


	2. Chapter 2

"Severus, may I have a word?" asked a squeaky voice from in front of his desk.

He looked up from the stack of parchments, careful to appear annoyed at the interruption, but secretly glad for a break. The novelty of finally getting to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts was wearing off fast. Once he'd gotten over the euphoria of realising that he'd never again have to explain the difference between "antidote," and "anecdote," he was quickly discovering that the classroom may be different, but it contained all the same dunderheads. He'd lost track of how many sixth-years wrote in their essays that chocolate wards off Dementors. Really, did they think Sirius Black escaped from Azkaban by waving around a bar of Honeydukes Bittersweet?

He made a mental note to blame Lupin for this misconception and acknowledged the presence of his diminutive colleague. "Yes, Filius?"

Flitwick looked appropriately sheepish. "My fainting spells are back," he said, smiling, well, faintly.

He sighed. All too often these days, he'd found himself protesting that he was not a Healer. "Can't they sort you out at St. Mungo's?"

The Charms teacher shrugged his small shoulders. "They couldn't the last time, but one dose of your potion put off the attacks for fifteen years." He paused and began to speak more carefully. "The curse I was hit with in that duel was...unusual. And your knowledge of the Dark Arts, in combination with your expertise in Potions is...uncommon."

"Your cautious diplomacy is unnecessary, Filius. I'm not ashamed of what I know."

"Well, making potions isn't your job any more, is it? But I can't remember what the potion is called, and Horace didn't know what I was talking about," he continued. "Horace said you were welcome anytime. That having you back in the Potions lab would be like the good old days."

"I'm glad someone was having fun," Severus muttered.

"What was that, Severus?"

"I said, very well. It's my own adaptation of a standard potion taught to the sixth years. Come here before breakfast tomorrow. I'll have it ready by then."

Severus heard the patter of his colleague's close-together footsteps but did not see him leave, as he had already turned his back to scrutinise the books on the shelves mounted on the wall behind his desk. He had committed most of his Potions books to memory, but he hadn't made this particular potion in fifteen years, and couldn't recall if, after the forty-ninth step, he needed to stir fourteen times counterclockwise and then add the dram of beetle eyes, or did he add the beetle eyes first?

He scanned the shelves a second time, but the book was definitely not there. Had he been so flush with victory at having finally gotten the job he wanted that he had been careless enough to leave behind _that_ book?

He breathed deeply to calm myself. If the book wasn't in his office, then it was still there, in the Potions classroom, on a shelf with hundreds of other books, its tattered and stained cover hardly inviting casual perusal.

The last Potions class of the day was still in session when he entered the room.

Horace paused in addressing the class and smiled questioningly at Severus.

"Forgive the intrusion, Professor Slughorn," he said. "I need one of my old books, and it can't wait."

Horace nodded and swept his arm in a welcoming gesture towards the bookshelves. "As I was saying," he said, turning back to the class, "You want an anecdote for a poison?" He jutted his big belly out even further. "There was this man who was trying to get rid of his wife, see?"

The class tittered, some of them eying Severus nervously. "Threats are faster," Severus hissed at Horace as he swept past. Horace ignored Severus, as usual.

It only took a couple of minutes to determine that the book was not there.

And it only took a couple of seconds to realise who must have it.

_"Potter!"_

The entire Potions class and its teacher were staring at Severus, who hadn't meant to speak aloud. Quelling his emotions, he swept back to his office and exploded some jars of Potions ingredients he'd brought up to his new office and kept around out of force of habit. But without a couple of quaking young detention-servers standing by, watching him vent his rage by casting a spell they could easily visualise being used upon their own heads, it just wasn't as satisfying. Indeed, as he surveyed the mess on his office floor, he felt more than a little silly, and cleared it up in a twinkling. He'd go for a walk, maybe up to the Astronomy Tower, where he could have a cigarette and think about how he could get his book back from Potter in the most discreet way possible.

As he walked, he lambasted himself for not realising sooner that Potter had his book, especially after what Horace had said at his Christmas party: "A natural at Potions." Like his mother? Hardly! Except for those eyes, Potter was his father's son in every way. After five years of unexceptional Potions making, Potter suddenly turns up a Potions genius? Severus chastised himself for his arrogance in assuming that Slughorn was suffering from incipient senility.

Tossing his last cigarette over the battlements, Severus was fresh out of ideas and started back down for dinner, sweeping past a disappointed Peeves hoisting a water balloon, who hadn't been able to catch him bringing a lit cigarette into the castle in years.

Suddenly, there was a crash on one of the lower floors. He raced down the stairs, barely avoiding careening into students transfixed by the sight of the head of Slytherin House bearing down upon them, and rushed into a bathroom.

Draco was bleeding before a horrified Potter from wounds looked all too familiar. Experimentally, Severus performed the countercurse to Sectumsempra, and the wounds began to heal before their eyes, to Potter's relief and Severus' utter lack of surprise. He glanced briefly at The Chosen One long enough to determine that the silly boy had used the curse without knowing what it did.

As he was bearing Draco to the hospital wing past hordes of astonished students, Severus mused on how fortunate it was that Potter didn't have a brain in his head, or he'd be wondering why Severus was so well-versed in the countercurse to the very curse he'd read about in that book.

Once he determined that Draco was going to be fine, he came back to the bathroom, glaring as fiercely as he could to hide his glee. For once, Potter's carelessness and stupidity has worked in his favour. He could now openly bully Potter into giving his book back.

"Leave us," he ordered Moaning Myrtle after arriving back in the bathroom. To his relief, she departed without a word this time, instead of her usual snarky comments like, "Hi, Severus! Now that Professor Slughorn has returned, I was wondering how soon you would be back scrubbing the tiles in the bathrooms under his supervision. Just because you're a Professor yourself doesn't mean you can't be naughty!" and similar such drivel. Surely if there was anything more annoying than a teenager, it would be the ghost of a teenager, who would never grow up and leave but instead hang around, being temperamental, immature, petulant and spotty for all eternity.

His initial interrogation of Potter went as expected. Potter conceded nothing and would need to be worn down with multiple detentions. And this need came at a fortuitous time. Severus had been so busy of late, he'd neglected to assign as many detentions as he had in the past. Filch was starting to whine about the enormous backlog of potential punishments in his office, how even a Squib had his pride, and so forth.

Though given the serious nature of the boy's attack on Draco, he could just ask the Headmaster to order Potter to give the book back, Filch and his checklist of menial tasks be damned.

Unless Albus let him have the book in the first place.

Severus stood up so quickly his chair bounced off a shelf and shattered a few bottles. Vanishing the mess, he left his office at a run and took the stairs two at a time up to the Headmaster's office.

After Albus Dumbledore had been injured destroying the Horcrux, he'd adjusted the wards to allow Severus to enter his office without delay. The gargoyle stepped aside without a word from Severus, and moments later he found himself standing in front of the Headmaster's desk gasping for breath, unable to speak.

The Headmaster stood as soon as Severus entered. "Poppy told me already. Your quick actions saved Draco from permanent disfigurement." He sat, wincing slightly, and cocked his head. "You wish to speak about something else. Please, sit down." He gestured a chair closer to the desk.

Struggling to control his temper, Severus remained standing. "Did you have a hand in this?"

The old man sagged in hs chair. "Severus, I can't tell you how sorry I am. Considering how intelligent you are, and how fiercely you guard your privacy, I realized you would eventually figure out where your book had gone. I never expected such a catastrophe."

Severus felt a chair prod the backs of his legs and spun around, kicking it over. Then he stomped the legs, breaking them off, and continued stomping until the chair was reduced to large splintery pieces.

"Tsk! His temper hasn't improved since he was twelve years old," remarked one of the portraits.

Dumbledore stood to Vanish the broken chair. Severus whirled to face him. "Is this like Occlumency all over again? Were you hoping Potter and I would get to _understand _each other better?"

"We're running out of time, Severus. Eventually, you and the boy will have to work together."

"I can work with him without his respect or love. Did you think...what if the Ministry had succeeded in making Sectumsempra an Unforgivable, after...after what I did to Auror Moody's face?"

"They couldn't because it has a countercurse."

"That was the legalese you used in my defence, we both know that." Severus turned his back on Dumbledore. "I suppose I have no right to complain."

"Severus..."

"If Potter finds out too much about me, I will be even more unforgivable in his eyes. Did you think of that?"

"He was starting to admire the Half-Blood Prince."

"Not after today." He walked over to the window and looked out over the grounds. Dumbledore conjured another chair in front of his desk.

"I know I am ultimately to blame for this." Severus turned back around and saw the new chair.

Dumbledore gestured towards the new chair. "Feel free to smash this one into splinters as well, if it makes you feel better."

Severus rolled his eyes and flopped into the chair, leaning to one side to prop himself on the arm. "I have always been prepared to face the consequences of my mistakes. But when you ask me to do too much, your enforcement of my loyalty strikes me as nothing short of blackmail"

"What did he ask you to do, Severus?" said another voice. Severus jerked upright and turned to sneer at the wall, but his sneer disappeared, changing into a look of surprise as he looked about at all the walls.

The portraits of the former headmasters and headmistresses were more awake than Severus had ever seen and were staring avidly down at the two men. He had seen them wakeful many times before, but never had they been so solidly three-dimensional and alive-seeming, as if they were people looking in through windows set at different heights along the walls.

"Speaking of trust," continued Phineas Nigellus, "he must have asked you to do something truly heinous if the Headmaster didn't trust us to overhear it, instead taking you to the Forbidden Forest to talk to you."

"Was it related to the Unbreakable Vow?" asked Dippet.

Severus leaned forwards in his chair. "This is ridiculous," he whispered. "What about my safety? The portraits are loyal to you, but not to me. And they know too much."

"What??"

"What did he say??"

"Time for tea," said Dumbledore, conjuring a teapot and a plate of those digestive biscuits with the chocolate on one side.

"The answer lies in considering our loyalty to the Headmaster," said Phineas contemplatively. "The orders issued to Professor Snape must be of a nature we would perceive to be disloyal."

"Can the Headmaster and I not take a walk in the Forest without the portraits believing we are hatching nefarious plots?" snapped Severus, taking a biscuit despite himself. Whenever he got really angry, Albus would try and soften his resolve with chocolate. To his ongoing shame, sometimes it worked.

"What about the conversation that Hagrid overheard, hmm?" asked one of the former Headmistresses.

"Yes. Completely out of character for Professor Snape to refuse a direct order."

"And the Headmaster needing to remind him he agreed to do it and that's final?"

Severus leapt to his feet. The babble of conversation amongst the portraits briefly rose, then fell silent.

"Hagrid was there?" Severus hissed.

Dumbledore smiled sadly. "Hagrid will provide an alibi when the time comes."

Severus' shoulders sagged. "I won't deserve an alibi."

There was a moment of silence. The portraits watched in rapt attention.

Then Fawkes squawked. At a gesture from the Headmaster, the bird glided from its perch to land on the desk.

"The castle creatures are also loyal to me," Dumbledore said. "They will not understand. Don't be surprised if you are attacked."

An excited din arose from the walls.

"Attack him?"

"When?"

"Why? This is annoyingly cryptic even for the Headmaster and Professor Snape."

Severus looked up at the Sorting Hat. "I'm surprised _you_ have nothing to add," he snarled.

The hat bent itself as if contemplating, and said, "If I were to say anything, I'd reiterate that you would have been happier in Ravenclaw, but you're very angry right now, so I've decided to keep my opinions to myself." And it settled back on its shelf, sagging slightly as it returned to its usual immobile and inanimate state.

Dumbledore raised his seared hand, and the excited babble amongst the portraits, loud enough to drown out the voices of the living, once again cessated.

Severus glared about at the portraits. Some glared back just as fiercely, others just smiled at him. As usual, none were intimidated. Severus resolved to assume his usual attitude of ignoring them completely. "Albus, I really don't see why you put up with...never mind." Severus took out his wand. "I may as well look at your hand again while I still can."

Dumbledore rolled up the right sleeve on his robes to expose his right arm from elbow to hand. Severus cast a spell on it, causing it to glow faintly. The glow faded towards the hand and stopped altogether where the flesh was burnt black.

"It hasn't spread," said Severus, "but it hasn't gotten any better. You may be facing a tough decision here." He terminated the Diagnostic Spell and Dumbledore straightened his sleeve.

Severus sat back in the chair and rubbed his eyes. "All of this, it's getting the better of me, Albus."

"You are indispensable, Severus."

"Not more indispensable than..." Severus closed his eyes a moment. "You know, between you, Katie Bell, and now Draco, I should qualify for an honourary Healer's certificate by the end of this term." He regarded Dumbledore coolly. "Assuming I'm not in Azkaban."

"I will provide you with alibis whether you want them or not," retorted Dumbledore gently.

"I'm sure I am powerless to stop you," said Severus, standing to walk towards the hearth. "If you will excuse me, I need to go downstairs and fetch more dittany for the hospital wing." He grabbed a handful of Floo powder and fled before he could be subjected to any more of that infuriating congenial empathy. Maybe a man that old had every right to be a father figure to all the rest of them, but sometimes Severus wished that Albus would honestly lose his temper so that they could scream at each other properly, just like a real father and son.

"Severus!" Horace rushed to greet him as he stumbled from the dungeon fireplace. "I can't tell you how sorry I am for lending that book to Mr Potter. But when I went to the shelf, yours was the only copy."

Severus started to retort that he always kept multiple extra copies of all the course books on hand in order to thwart would-be skiivers who would use losing their books as an excuse. But that bit of information would necessarily lead to more tedious explaining. By way of reply he said, "The hospital wing needs more dittany."

Horace smiled. "That's not your job anymore, is it? You haven't changed a bit, Severus. Always working too hard and not eating enough, making the rest of us look fat and slothful." Horace bustled away to the storage room.

Severus called after him, "Horace, if you don't mind, I'd like to look around and see if there are any other personal items I'd rather remove to my quarters than have fall into the hands of students."

"Yes, yes. An excellent notion. Carry on," said Horace, emerging from the storage room clutching some dried plants. "It's a pity, really, that Mr Potter can't just stick to the Potions-making, considering what a rare talent he has. I shall have to speak to him. The Headmaster may be providing him with guidance, but I doubt anybody's thought of the boy's career after the war. Did...you want to say something, Severus?" Horace was standing on the hearth, Floo powder tricking from between his fingers.

"Never mind, Horace."

Horace nodded. "I value your opinions as well, Severus. We'll talk at dinner. _Hospital Wing!"_

But Severus wasn't left quite alone.

"Professor, may I have a word?"

Severus sighed. "Phineas, I'm not telling you anything."

"You don't have to." The former Headmaster smirked at Severus from his dungeon portrait. "But you needn't worry. I have no intention of sharing my deductions with the other portraits."

"What makes you think there's anything to deduce?"

"Process of elimination. What would you and the Headmaster be unwilling to share with the former Headmasters?"

Severus turned his back on the portrait. "Lots of things. Personal things we'd rather not share with gossipy two-dimensional immortal beings."

Phineas snorted. "We are the guardians of the Headmaster. You really think we care about gossip? You really think I'd care if you smuggled a witch into the dungeons? Though you should have more often, in my opinion. As I recall, it makes facing classes full of dunderheads easier to tolerate with equanimity."

"Why do I bother talking to you at all? As we speak, I could be brewing a batch of magically-enhanced turpentine." Severus started to stride away.

"Dumbledore never hid anything from us. That is, until now."

Severus stopped in his tracks.

"Even someone like you, who has accumulated an unusual quantity of regrets for one so young, is an infant compared to this man. You have known him for most of your life. All you have seen in the years you have known him, and all you have read about him is but a fraction of what he has actually done. I'm certain he intends to exit his mortal existence in as dramatic a fashion as he had lead it, preferably in some noble Gryffindorian way. Like helping bring about an end to this war by catapulting an ally into a position of supreme trust with the enemy."

"You're mad," whispered Severus. "And you talk too much."

The portrait smirked. "He trusts you with his life. So it only follows that he would trust you with his death."


	3. Chapter 3

Harry sat on the edge of his bed tapping his toes on the floor and drumming his fingers on his knees. Finally, after what felt like the longest summer of his life, he was leaving the Dursleys forever.

There was a flicker at the edge of his peripheral vision. He looked at his alarm clock and smiled, his anticipation tinged with sadness. "Happy birthday to me," he whispered, his voice disproportionately loud in the dark and quiet bedroom.

Even the ticking of his clock seemed thunderous, and he walked over to his window to see who would be arriving. The window was half-open to admit the mild mid-summer air, but as Harry waved his hand past the gap, he couldn't feel even a hint of a breeze. Puzzled, he bent to listen at the window. Moments earlier, there were the usual nighttime noises, like the rustling of a small animal attempting to squeeze through a hedgerow and the muffled voices of a couple arguing. But now these sounds had disappeared into a vast and birdless silence that seemed to stretch from the house to infinity.

Determined to be wary rather than frightened, Harry drew his wand and peeked out, keeping most of his body behind the wall. Everything looked normal, if abnormally still, the tree outside his window so motionless it looked like a Muggle photograph of itself. Everything looked as if someone had dropped a giant transparent bowl over the house.

The silence suddenly seemed to be pressing on him from behind, and he spun around, casting a Shield Charm as he turned to confront whoever was entering his room.

"That's what I like to see! Constant Vigilance!" said Mad-Eye Moody, grinning.

Harry forced a smile. "I thought you were retired, Mr Moody," he said formally, mindful of the other Aurors crowding into the room behind his former would-be teacher.

The light from the tip of Moody's wand illuminated his face from beneath, making its disfigurements appear especially ghastly. "Mr Scrimgeour realised that you would be watchful today and decided you should be confronted with a familiar face."

Harry briefly wondered why Mr Scrimgeour didn't confront him with his own familiar face before deciding he really didn't care. For years he'd waited for this day, but now that it had arrived, he just wanted to crawl back into bed.

At least with the Dursleys, he knew what to expect.

There were a few other Order members in the crowd, but he didn't recognize most of the Aurors. Faces expressionless, eyes cold, they ignored Harry, roving about his bedroom and searching everywhere, looking in his closet, poking around inside his trunk, pawing through his dresser drawers, and casting Revealment Charms wherever they looked.

Harry was toying with saying he had You-Know-Who hidden inside the toe of one of his trainers, and had just convinced himself that that would be a very bad idea when an Auror announced, "Everything seems to be secure, sir."

One of the Aurors had a different insignia on the front of his robes and seemed to be the focus of their respect. He nodded at the report and turned towards Harry. "We don't believe they would have attempted an attack today. They knew we would be here in force. You are being escorted to the Weasleys. The Burrow is now the most heavily-warded private house in Britain."

Harry thought of last year's escort, and his stomach lurched in grief. Watching the Dursleys squirm while Professor Dumbledore politely repudiated everything they stood for was almost worth the ten years of abuse he'd endured at their hands.

Almost.

And now his final moments at the Dursleys' were passing with the clinical precision of a military exercise. From the silence in the rest of the house, he deduced that the Aurors weren't even going to wake the Dursleys so that he could bid them good-bye in some way that would put the Ton-Tongue Toffee to shame.

Even if they did wake the Dursleys, the Aurors would probably follow proper procedure and Obliviate them afterwards. And where was the fun in that?

"Are you packed?" asked a familiar voice, and he turned to see Tonks in uniform robes, her hair short and blonde, smooth against her head. She was as impassive as the others, but when he caught her eye, the corners of her mouth turned up almost imperceptibly, and one of her eyes moved in what may have been the suggestion of a wink.

"Sort of." He waved his wand, and all his possessions except Hedwig stuffed themselves into his trunk. After helping him with a few futile attempts at closing the trunk by hand, Tonks performed a spell that seemed to be the magical equivalent of jumping up and down on the lid, and successfully fastened it down.

"We're sending this on ahead," she said, and an Auror levitated the trunk while another grabbed Hedwig's cage. The owl hooted in protest as she was borne from the room.

Tonks reached into a pocket. "One of Professor Dumbledore's inventions," she said sadly, and held something out to Harry. He accepted what looked like a stick of gum.

"It's a Portkey," Tonks explained. "But because it can only be activated by chewing on it, you're much less likely to get transported by mistake before you're ready."

Harry started to unwrap the gum, but Tonks stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Not quite yet."

The Auror in charge removed a Time-Turner from his pocket. "One-quarter turn should be sufficient," he said, handing the device to Tonks.

"I still think one full hour would be more..."

"Thank you, Miss Tonks. You have made your objections clear. But time is not to be trifled with. Mr Scrimgeour was unequivocal in his instructions."

Harry and Tonks left his bedroom and walked through a tunnel-like series of Imperturbable Charms leading to the front door, dozens of Aurors lighting the way with their wands. Just before they reached it, Tonks stopped and looped the Time-Turner's chain around both their necks. Moments later, they stepped into the blackness of the house that existed fifteen minutes earlier and walked out the front door into a typical summer night in Little Whinging.

As they stepped under the light of the street lamps, Harry was startled to notice that Tonks was now a Muggle girl about his age, wearing a short T-shirt that exposed her midriff and a belly button ring, and a skirt that barely covered her backside. She seized him by the hand, forcing him along. Her hair was long, black and shining, and she flipped it back in a gesture of petulance. "I told you I didn't want to see another movie. That's all you ever want to do. Here's what I want to do." Giggling, she dragged him into a gap in a hedgerow, drew out her stick of gum, and directed him to do the same.

Chewing their gum, they found themselves in a gap between two big buildings behind a large and prickly bush. Tonks pushed past it roughly and Harry thought she had to have been badly scratched, but as he followed, he found the bush's branches pliant as rubber, the thorns all pointing the other way.

After a short walk down a block of what looked like the tourist area of a city, ornate little shops alternating with bed-and-breakfasts, they turned a corner to find the Earls Court tube station and a throng of drunken Australians who seemed to be celebrating some sort of sports victory. They allowed the Aussies to bring them along until they were in front of the station, where Tonks extricated them both and bought tickets. They travelled only a couple of stops before departing. Tonks left the station at a run. "C'mon. We'll be late." She bounded up the long flight of stairs to street level and into a kiosk-like shop in the centre of the train station. Looking about, Harry clapped a hand over his eyes.

Though their journey had been disorienting and bewildering, he had been enjoying its madcap randomness, but now, standing in a shop filled with women's underwear, it was all too much.

"This is too weird," he protested from behind his hands.

"Isn't it?" said Tonks. "Surely the only thing weirder than selling underwear in the middle of a train station is buying it." She nudged him towards a tall rack of lingerie. "Come on, then. I'm not going to make you try anything on."

Hidden in the corner of the shop, she took his arm and whispered, "It's the most private place I could find that we could get to quickly in this station. Ready?"

He closed his eyes and braced himself for the now-familiar unpleasant squeezing sensation of a side-along Apparition. They arrived in the middle of a nondescript field.

"Let's see," said Tonks, looking about. "Opposite that bush..." She stared at a particularly uninviting patch of pasture distinguished by churned-up mud, the hoofprints of livestock, and many large splatters of animal dung.

"You won't need your wellies," she said, and walked boldly towards the most gooey-looking patch. But as Harry followed her reluctantly into what looked like a smelly, shoe-sucking mire, the ground firmed under his trainers, and in front of him, the Burrow materialised in all its motley yet welcoming disarray.

A tall, familiar form stepped out of previous non-existence. "Happy birthday, Harry," said Kingsley Shacklebolt, shaking Harry's hand. Then he stepped between Harry and Tonks. "You like how the wards make their house look like a pile of cow dung? Now there's a level of humility pure-bloods like the Malfoys could never achieve."

"The Malfoys don't have sons like Fred and George helping with the wards," said Tonks. "Can we go into the house now?"

"Of course not," said Kingsley, smiling genially. "Not until you tell me your favourite colour."

"All of them," replied Tonks brightly. "What's your favourite Quidditch team?"

"None of them," Kingsley replied.

The two Aurors nodded to each other. As they walked to the house, Kingsley explained his question.

"When you're a big black man, everybody thinks you're into sports. Now me, I hate sports, but even people I've known for years will say, 'Hey, Kings, how about that game on the weekend.' Stereotypes are so tedious. When I worked security during the Quidditch World Cup, I was actually glad when the Death Eaters showed up."

"Kingsley!" protested Tonks, looking sideways at Harry. "Is that the kind of joke to be making in front of Harry?"

They had reached the front door. Kingsley looked steadily at Harry. "He's of age now. And it's not as if he doesn't think of Death Eaters if we don't mention them."

And then the door opened and Molly Weasley swept Harry into a suffocating embrace before dragging him into a kitchen redolent with good smells.

"Harry!" Ron and Hermione leapt from the kitchen table and rushed to Harry.

After the past few months of being either ignored or greeted with cringing hostility, Harry felt overwhelmed both physically and emotionally, and was grateful to find that being half-smothered helped disguise whatever embarrassing feelings he might otherwise show.

Tonks and Kingsley lingered by the door.

"Come join us," said Molly. "I'm sending the young people to bed after some hot cocoa. There's plenty for everybody."

Kingsley shook his head. "I promised Mr Scrimgeour I'd get the Time-Turner back to the Ministry by one o'clock, or I'd get a 'friendly reminder,' something that makes Howlers look like love notes."

"What a tosser!" Tonks burst out.

"Miss Tonks!" said Molly reprovingly.

"I'm sorry." She flopped into one of the chairs, barely stopping it from going over backwards by seizing the edge of the table. "Luckily, everything went smoothly. We put the cordon over the house so that nothing could enter or leave. So the only way to take Harry out would be to travel backwards in time, to before the cordon existed."

"Clever!" exclaimed Hermione. "Also, he would still be underage. The protections would still be in place."

"Yes, well, the wizard who thought of it has a highly logical mind."

Molly frowned. "Who was that, anyway?"

Instead of replying, Tonks scrunched up her nose and reverted to her natural appearance, topped by mouse brown hair. "I'm very tired," she said, and yawned. Molly placed a steaming mug in front of her. "Ta very much. As I was saying, the prat only authorized fifteen minutes back. That's cutting it awfully fine, I said. Somebody of your rank is lucky to get authorization for the use of a Time-Turner at all, he said." She retrieved the device from her handbag and thrust it into the outstretched hand of Kingsley, who gave a brief nod to everybody before slipping out the door.

Tonks sipped some cocoa and sighed. "These bloody bureaucrats and their rules. WHAT'S more important than getting Harry to safety. I ask you." She smiled at Harry. "It was fun, though, wasn't it?"

"In a weird way, I guess." Harry was again reminded of the previous year's leave-taking, and took a sip of cocoa to help swallow the lump in his throat.

"Did you really go on the Underground?" asked Ron, eyes wide.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "It's just trains, Ron. You've been on lots of trains."

"Not trains that go through tunnels dug deep enough for vampires."

"You've definitely spent too much time with your older brothers this summer," remarked Molly.

"They don't serve food on the Underground, you know," said Hermione.

"It doesn't always have to be about food, you know."

"You could have fooled me."

Comforted by his friends' familiar bickering, Harry could feel himself getting sleepy. The tedium of doing nothing for the past couple of months but wait for this day was exhausting, now that it was past. And the novelty of his journey with Tonks was starting to fade into the background of all the other strange things he'd seen and done in his life. Between the feeling of being safe and loved, and the late hour, he could feel a deep and dreamless sleep encroaching on the edge of his consciousness.

Then Tonks spoke, and his eyes snapped open.

"The pure-blood psychopaths we're up against would never condescend to a Muggle form of transportation," she said. "Some of them are excellent trackers, but their prejudices would have slowed them down when we went into the Underground."

Hermione nodded vigorously. "Even if they did follow you, I could see them getting hung up in the turnstiles on the way out."

"Yes, and blast their way through, and have a hundred of our people on top of them in seconds."

"Not all of them are pure-bloods," said Harry quietly, suppressing a wave of rage and hatred.

Everyone turned to look not at Harry, but at a man who had pulled up a chair at the end of the table. Lulled by his fatigue and sense of absolute safety, Harry hadn't bothered to look at the stranger when he'd entered a few minutes earlier, assuming he was yet another Auror or perhaps a Weasley relative.

He was an older man, past sixty, and dressed like a Muggle. His hair was short, grey and tidy, and he sported an equally tidy grey beard.

There was something familiar about this man, though Harry felt sure they'd never met. "Do I know you?" he asked, uncharacteristically blunt. Something about this man provoked him to be slightly rude.

The man smiled, revealing crooked, discoloured teeth, and Harry noticed the large hooked nose at about the same time it felt like a ball of ice was forming in the pit of his stomach.

"We haven't met," he said. "Apparently, you've seen me before, though my son was vague about the circumstances."

Horrified, Harry whispered, "You're Tobias Snape!"

ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

Author's note: Even though Jo destroyed all the Time-Turners at the end of OoP, I'm suggesting in this fic that the Minister for Magic would have one at his disposal in case of emergencies that would have escaped the destruction in the Battle at the Ministry by virtue of being in his possession. That's why Kingsley had to return the Time-Turner directly to Scrimgeour.


	4. Chapter 4

Many thanks to whitehound, beta and Brit-picker extraordinaire. Any remaining mistakes are mine.

ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

Harry looked at Tonks, and she was staring at him, her right hand hidden, tucked into a pocket, but the bulge of her clenched fist clearly visible. Her eyes reminded him of Sirius, and he looked away, struggling to control his emotions. Hermione met his eyes and gave him a faint smile while Ron stared off into space, one arm slung over the back of the chair. Both his friends looked distinctly uncomfortable.

Not trusting himself to face Snape's father, and too tired to speculate what was wrong with his friends, Harry turned his gaze back to Tonks. "I'm not going to attack him," he said, trying to keep his tone of voice light, not sure what was worse: if he hexed an old and defenceless Muggle, or burst into tears.

Tonks smiled gently. "No offence, but we weren't sure how you'd react, considering what you've been through." She removed her right hand from the pocket and folded it with the left in a gesture of conciliation.

Harry dared to look at the old man, and understood. "You're here for your protection."

Tobias Snape nodded. "Not so much on account of my son's...associates, but his enemies." He sipped one of the ubiquitous mugs of hot cocoa. "Though whatever happens to me, I'm not sure how much he'd care."

Molly started to protest. "Toby, I'm sure that's not..." She glanced at Harry. "That is to say..."

"It's been a long day, what with ridding the garden of gnomes." The old man stood and stretched, yawning.

Looking relieved, Molly waved her wand at the opposite end of the kitchen. A set of stairs Harry had never seen before appeared next to the wall and appeared to end at solid ceiling. After the old man had shuffled upstairs, placing each foot with the deliberate care of someone with sore knees before disappearing through the ceiling, Molly waved her wand again, and the stairs disappeared.

"The Aurors insisted we put him in another part of the house," Molly explained apologetically.

"I don't care, really," said Harry, and meant it, the drama of the day once again bearing down upon him, leaving him so tired he could barely sit upright, and he allowed his friends to lead him up the stairs, leaving Molly to help Tonks with the washing up.

"We have _a lot_ to talk about," whispered Hermione as they left Molly behind in the kitchen.

"Not _now_!" whispered Ron indignantly.

"Of course, not _now_!"

"Nothing that can't wait until the morning," called Molly. "Or would you like me to tuck you in?"

"That's okay, mum," said Ron hastily. Catching up to Harry, he whispered, "Unless you'd like mum to sing you a lullaby."

Harry replied by jabbing an elbow into Ron's ribs.

"Oof!"

"Shh!" Hermione shoved at them both.

"Am I going to have to come up there?" Molly was at the base of the stairs. "If I have to come up there, I'll be along side of you. And if I'm along side of you..."

"Good night, mum!" called Ron.

Momentarily relieved by his friends' reversion to normal behaviour, Harry stuffed a fist in his mouth to suppress giggles. But alone in bed, his mind teemed with questions that chased him all the way into unconsciousness and into a dream that had haunted him all summer. Once again he was forced to watch, frozen with horror and the spell that restrained him, as the blast of green light struck Albus Dumbledore in the chest. The dream didn't vary all summer, remorselessly replaying events exactly as they occurred, though sometimes lingering perversely over the more painful details, like Dumbledore's pleading, or Snape's face twisting with hatred as he raised his wand, and Harry realising, too late, too late, that all the doubts he ever had about Snape were justified. The dream especially lingered over the moment when Snape cast the spell, as time seemed to conflate, and Harry thought that for once, he, Harry, was right, and Dumbledore and Hermione and Hagrid were wrong, and he was about to be vindicated, and why oh why couldn't he be wrong like he usually was?

But this time, the dream took a strange turn, even for dreams. This time, Professor Dumbledore didn't tumble backwards over the battlements, but slumped to the floor much in the same way Cedric Diggory had when he died. Momentarily, dead Dumbledore's face even transposed with dead Cedric's, as if Harry's subconscious mind was being as obvious with him as possible, to make sure he got the point, whatever it was. And Snape didn't flee directly, shoving a bewildered-looking Draco Malfoy before him. Instead he paused and stared pointedly at the two brooms on the balcony, smirking, until dream-Draco seized his hand. "We have to go _now,_ sir." And dragged him from the balcony.

Harry abruptly awoke. Perhaps he was becoming battle-hardened, he thought. All the deaths start to blur in one's mind. Come to think of it, though, it was strange, how Dumbledore went tumbling over the battlements instead of just slumping down dead like Cedric.

But that just meant Snape was a much more powerful wizard than Wormtail. And he wasn't just following orders, but acting of his own accord, motivated by the depths of his own malevolence. So it would follow that his killing curse was stronger than Wormtail's.

Knowing he wouldn't be able to sleep any more, Harry slipped into his robe and padded downstairs. It was early dawn. The songbirds were not yet awake. Looking out the window, the grounds around the Burrow seemed the same as they always did, though farther off, the surrounding landscape had an unreal look, and he realised he was seeing them through substantial wards. He thought he could see gnomes creeping closer to conceal themselves nearer to the house.

"I don't know why I bother."

Harry jumped. "Mr Snape."

"I throw the gnomes as far as I can, but the wards trap them inside the property. All we can do is clear them from the immediate area around the house. I've just made some tea. Have some. I make excellent scrambled eggs."

Harry tried to calm himself and slow the hammering of his heart. "Would you like some help?"

"No." He disappeared into the pantry and reappeared with a carton of eggs, laying them down on the table next to a handful of freshly-picked chives. "The Weasleys are excellent hosts, but sometimes they make me feel like an invalid." He picked up the chives and examined them. "I hope these are regular chives and not magical chives that cause you to grow chives on your head instead of hair, or transform you into a wood nymph, or similar such nonsense."

"Erm...they have some magical plants in their garden, but I'm pretty sure the chives are just chives."

The old man grunted by way of reply, centred a large ceramic bowl on the table and began to prepare the eggs with smooth deft skill and fastidious care, cracking three eggs in each hand simultaneously, chopping chives, and adding salt and pepper, all without getting a speck on the table.

Rousing himself from watching Snape's dad in dumb fascination, Harry went to the cold-charmed cupboard. "Here's the milk, Mr Snape."

"Call me Toby." He frowned slightly. "Many people add milk to scrambled eggs. It's a mistake. If you are determined to assist, you can fetch the frying pan and set it on the stove."

"Yes...Toby." On his way back with the frying pan, Harry wondered what the old man's son would think of his father being addressed so familiarly by him of all people, and for a moment, thinking about Snape the younger, he forgot to be sick with anger.

But the familiar, strength-sapping rage returned when Toby set the plate of scrambled eggs in front of him. A certain vile, lying, murdering madman who had caused the deaths of Harry's parents and every mentor Harry had ever known was once a boy being served breakfast by this same man.

Staring at the plate of eggs before him, Harry clenched his fork with white-knuckled fingers.

"Eat," ordered Toby. "I'm not a poisoner."

The last word hung in the air between them. Toby caught Harry's eye and looked away, then smiled. "Ron. Hermione."

"Haven't you heard of sleeping in?" Ron grinned, bleary-eyed, at his friend, his dishevelled hair seeming even messier than Harry's by virtue of its flaming colour.

Hermione was so close behind Ron that Harry found himself thinking maybe they slept together before banishing that thought as too weird and icky, especially before breakfast.

"Nobody said you had to get up when I did," retorted Harry.

"You made so much noise," said Ron. "OWW!"

Hermione was staring at Ron, eyes wide.

"Why'd you have to step on my..."

"Shut up!" snapped Hermione.

"Plenty for everyone." Toby bustled about, setting out plates and forks as deftly as if he'd used magic. Soon everyone was tucking into what turned out to be delicious scrambled eggs, once you got over who made them.

"There's tea," said Toby, and Harry froze in mid-bite as Ginny appeared at the bottom of the stairs. Unlike the other kids she was already dressed, her hair neatly combed back into a ponytail.

"I thought you weren't here," said Harry weakly, wishing he could think of something cooler to say. But why hadn't she greeted him the night before when he'd arrived?

"I wasn't allowed to come home," she said bitterly, as if answering his unspoken question. "There was a security cordon around this entire county hours before your arrival, and nobody bothered to tell mum or dad. Dad and I went to visit Fred and George and bring them back here with us, so we'd all be here to greet you. We left their flat at eight o'clock only to find we couldn't get here. Fred and George ended up returning to their flat after dad made them promise they wouldn't do anything stupid. They'll be visiting later this morning. But I told dad I was going to have breakfast at home. So dad and I arrived a little after three. Mum was furious." She looked around the kitchen. "I guess she and dad are still asleep. Sorry I couldn't be here."

"You're here now," said Harry, standing and pulling away the chair beside him. She ran to him and they hugged awkwardly.

"If you thought mum was angry after you arrived, you should have seen her when the Aurors told us you should have known better than to stay in London so late," said Ron to his sister.

"Last night, though, Harry's safety had to come first," said Hermione.

"What is with you these days?" snapped Ginny. "All you do is make excuses for bad behaviour."

Hermione gasped. "That's not true!"

Apologetically, Ron said, "You have to admit, Hermione, what you said about..." He stopped.

Hermione, Ron, and Ginny all looked at Toby, who was reading the Daily Prophet and sipping a cup of tea.

Toby looked up, peering at them over the top of his glasses. "I'll go to my room," he said.

"Don't let us drive you away," said Ginny apologetically.

"You deserve some private time with your friend. And I deserve some quiet time with the paper." He raised his eyebrows and Ginny performed the spell Harry had seen Molly use the night before, lowering the secret staircase. They ate eggs in silence until he was out of sight.

"What are all of you on about?" snapped Harry as soon as Toby vanished through the ceiling. "Ginny and Hermione, why aren't you getting along? I need my friends to be, you know, friends."

"I'm sorry, Hermione," said Ginny, almost tearful, squeezing Hermione's hands. "I'm so, so tired."

Hermione hugged Ginny. "You haven't had four hours' sleep."

"When mum gets up, first thing she'll do is send you straight back to bed," said Ron.

"That won't be the worst thing. In fact, I'm not waiting for mum. Harry..."

"We have plenty of time to talk later."

"I'll try not to pick fights with anybody at lunch." Ginny retreated back up the stairs.

As soon as they could no longer hear Ginny's footfalls, Harry turned towards his friends. "Now will you tell me why you're acting so weird?"

Ron and Hermione looked at each other.

"I didn't think I was acting any weirder than usual," said Ron.

"Well, maybe not much weirder than usual, come to think of it. But did something happen this summer?" asked Harry.

"It's about the events of the day Professor Dumbledore died," said Hermione all in one breath, and she and Ron stared intently at Harry, waiting for his reaction.

"The day he was murdered, you mean?" replied Harry, his voice calmer than he thought possible.

"Are you sure you want to hear this?" said Hermione, her voice cool, but her eyes warm and compassionate.

"Best you hear it from us, mate," said Ron, looking between Hermione and Harry.

"Hear what? You keep saying nothing's happened, but..."

"Well, nothing has happened. The usual suspects are still on the run, and the people who have been missing are still..."

"I've been taking the Daily Prophet all summer. Will you get to it?"

Hermione and Ron looked at each other again before regarding Harry doubtfully.

Harry heaved a sigh in exasperation. "Nothing you say can come as a bigger shock than what I've already seen."

Hermione folded her hands on the table. "Right...first of all, why would Professor Dumbledore put a Freezing Charm on you?"

Harry snorted. "Obviously, he was protecting me. He was obsessed with keeping me hidden, going on and on about my Invisibility Cloak, put it on, don't take it off. Whoever came through that door, he didn't want me fighting them."

Hermione said, "But why let anybody come through the door in the first place? Why not seal the door instead?"

Harry buried his face in his hands.

Hermione took a deep breath. "Maybe Professor Dumbledore wanted to prevent you from stopping...what happened."

Harry looked up from his hands, his eyes bright. "Professor Dumbledore was sick and not up to flying anymore. If he sealed the door, nobody could come to his assistance. I mean, he expected Snape to help him, not execute him."

"But would Snape be able to fight three Death Eaters plus Fenrir Greyback with only a sick Dumbledore on his side? Even if Draco came to his senses and decided to fight with him, I don't think so. Look how the three of us were able to overpower Snape in the Shrieking Shack when we were only in third year."

Ron said, "I still say we caught him off-guard. He was too busy raging at Sirius and Remus to worry about us kids."

"And how about when he pleaded with Snape?" Hermione continued, gentle but remorseless. "Do you really think he was pleading for his life? Here was a very, very old man who was sick and injured, who liked to say that death was the next great adventure. It makes better sense to me that he was pleading for Snape to rid the school of Death Eaters and the child-eating werewolf psychopath. By killing Dumbledore, Snape could then flee the school saying, 'It's over; time to go,' and getting all the nasty people out of the school with a minimum of casualties."

"'A minimum of casualties?'" mimicked Harry, horrified. "You weren't there! You didn't see the effect of that potion on his mind, how emotional it made him. He wasn't himself at all. He did plead for his life. I . was . there. I heard him." He angrily wiped his eyes. "Anything else?"

Ron said, "Hermione, maybe that's enough for now."

"I want to hear it!" retorted Harry.

Turning away from Ron, Hermione continued, "What about the conversation Hagrid overheard in the Forbidden Forest? Where Snape said he didn't want to do it anymore, and Dumbledore said he'd agreed to do it, and that's final?"

Willing himself to get his emotions under control, Harry adopted a calmer tone of voice. "Hang on...I thought you were saying Dumbledore sacrificed himself as a split-second decision on the Astronomy Tower to help Snape get the Death Eaters out of the school. So by your own logic, the conversation that Hagrid overheard had to do with something else. It could have been any number of things. Maybe...maybe Snape had agreed at first to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts for one year only, returning as the Potions Master the following school year, for instance, and he'd changed his mind because he was having too much fun with the Dark Arts."

Hermione retorted gently, "We know Snape took an Unbreakable Vow to protect Draco. So if he talked it over with Dumbledore, they must have discussed ways of dealing with the repercussions of this Vow. After all, we now know that Draco's task was to kill Dumbledore."

"You're insane!" retorted Harry. "So what you're saying is Dumbledore decided to sacrifice himself, one of the most powerful wizards that ever lived, the only one Voldemort ever feared, to save the life of one clever, scheming Dark wizard whom nobody trusted? What's the point to that?"

"A couple of points to that," said Hermione. "First of all, like I mentioned before, Snape was able to take all the bad people out of the school when he fled, so Dumbledore's sacrifice saved lots of lives right there and not just Snape's. Secondly, Snape is now, I would guess, Voldemort's most trusted Death Eater. He's now in the best position possible for someone on our side, if he is, to help you in the final battle."

"Like I keep telling you," snarled Harry, "you weren't there! You didn't see the look of hatred on Snape's face when he...he..." Unable to finish, Harry stood so quickly his chair skittered across the floorboards and almost fell over in a Tonks-like display of clumsiness. Ron caught the chair and stood with Harry.

As Hermione released the Imperturbable Charm, Harry turned to see Mr and Mrs Weasley standing on the stairs. Mr Weasley looked uncomfortable and a little confused, but Mrs Weasley just looking angry.

"Could you not have waited a day or two?" snapped Mrs Weasley.

Composing his face, Harry said, "It's okay, Mrs Weasley. Whenever they told me, it wouldn't have been easy." And he fled back up to his room.

Harry stayed upstairs for the rest of the morning. At twelve-thirty, a sandwich and a glass of milk materialised on his bedside table, but he was scarcely able to eat.

Harry had always respected Hermione's logical mind and her ability to find creative solutions to problems other people could barely understand. But this was taking scholarly obsessiveness too far. Hermione's ideas were far beyond just misguided--they were dangerous. What if she started convincing people that Snape really wasn't a traitor?

What if Snape found out?

Harry threw on his jeans and ran down the stairs. He couldn't stop Hermione from harbouring ridiculous beliefs, but he could convince her not to spread them around. If he told her to cease and desist out of respect for his grief and the enormous burden of responsibility he bore, maybe that would do it.

Hermione smiled strangely as he appeared. She was sitting at the kitchen table with Tonks and Kingsley, the latter of whom held up a hand in warning. Harry barely avoided crashing headlong into the Imperturbable Charm when he reached the bottom of the stairs.

Kingsley released the charm. "Good afternoon! Come, sit." He gestured with his wand, and the chair nearest to Harry slid out. Kingsley restored the charm as Harry sat.

"We were just discussing the theories Hermione shared with you this morning," said Tonks. "Hermione has agreed that it's in the best interests of all of us to keep these theories to herself."

"Exactly!" exclaimed Harry, flinging himself into the proffered chair. "What if the evil git found out?"

"Precisely," said Kingsley, inclining his head. "He might make contact with people he perceives as sympathetic. And by pretending to spy for us, he'll end up spying on us all over again."

"And I thought of something else," said Harry. "I can see...I can see how it might make sense that maybe Dumbledore wouldn't plead for his life. Personally, I think he was, but if you want to keep an open mind about it for some weird reason, you'd still have to consider that maybe Dumbledore was pleading with Snape not to do it. Maybe Dumbledore didn't want Snape to do something that would risk splintering his soul. He cared about Snape that much, I think."

Hermione and Tonks weren't looking at him. Despite all he had been through, Harry couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt, seeing Hermione like this. She must feel so embarrassed right now.

"Duty calls," said Kingsley, rising to his feet and lowering the Imperturbable Charm. "The Prime Minister is demanding to know what we had to do with that plane crash at Gatwick last month, and were we planning any more."

"I'm still surprised he kept you around after he found out you were a wizard," remarked Tonks.

"He's a sensible man, as politicians go," said Kingsley, opening the door. "He's not threatened by the counsel of people with more brains than him, or skills he doesn't have. Unlike the American president, I might add. Hullo, Remus, Molly, Arthur." He turned sideways to allow the thin werewolf and Arthur and Molly Weasley slip past him and into the house before departing and shutting the door.

"I didn't know the Muggle Prime Minister was still on about that plane crash" said Remus. "I thought everybody was confident that that was a failure of Muggle technology."

"It definitely was," said Arthur Weasley. "Something to do with those wheels that come out on the underside to catch the plane when it sets down." He shook his head in admiration. "Extraordinary, how they can get something so heavy to fly without any magic at all."

"Yes, that's why no sensible witch or wizard would ever go on one," said Molly.

"That's not entirely true, my dear..."

"Arthur! Don't you dare even think...where's Toby?" Molly frowned and looked about the kitchen.

"I think I saw him just round the corner of the house digging in the garden," said Remus. "By the way, did you warn him about that Venomous Hyacinth?"

"I put wards around it, didn't I?" said Molly. "You don't raise seven children by just trusting them to stay away from dangerous things. But that's not it...I told him to not bother about the weeds." She bustled outside.

"If the man wants to pull weeds, why not let him, dear?" Arthur followed Molly.

Tonks smiled at Remus as he sat next to her at the table. "I'm going to ask him now. What do you think?"

Remus shrugged his thin shoulders and smiled wanly. "Now is as good a time as any, I reckon."

"Ask who what?" said Ron.

"Really, Ron!" admonished Hermione. "We're on the cusp of finding out, aren't we?"

Tonks turned to Harry. "You're looking at next year's Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher."

"Cool!" said Ron. "But that's just telling us something. That's not asking anybody anything."

"Hush!" said Hermione, looking at Tonks with an unfathomable expression.

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

She nodded. "If you look at the recent history of the DADA teachers, only the ones with bad intent came to a bad end. Quirrell and Crouch were secretly helping You-Know-Who, and they died. Gilderoy Lockhart Obliviated himself when he tried to do the same to you, and remains in St. Mungo's to this day. Darling Dolores barely escaped with her life and continues to harbour a fear of centaurs so obsessive, it interferes with her daily life."

"This phobia is especially apparent when people morph themselves into the appearance of a centaur before overtaking Dolores from behind in Ministry corridors," commented Remus, smiling.

"As I was saying," continued Tonks, pointedly ignoring Remus, "the only person who taught DADA in the past six years and finished the year unscathed was Remus, whose intentions were always to be a proper teacher. I believe that just as You Know Who doesn't understand love, he doesn't believe in genuine selflessness. He believes that everybody has ulterior motives for everything. So I think the curse on the DADA position works by magnifying the bad in whatever the teacher does, drawing its power from evil in the heart of the teacher. Which furthers You Know Who's agenda at Hogwarts, but also increases the likelihood of a bad end for that teacher. So if a DADA teacher is truly good and pure of heart, the curse doesn't work properly, and the teacher finishes the year unharmed."

Remus was frowning. "I made some mistakes that night in the Shrieking Shack."

Tonks said, "Well, you did end up getting sacked, didn't you?"

"Your theory doesn't completely work," said Harry. "For all we know, Snape's in perfectly good health."

Tonks looked down, chewing her lower lip. "Yes...well...for all we know, the curse on the position ended with the death of Albus Dumbledore." She looked back up at Harry. "The Headmistress has sent you several owls telling you she's keeping the school open, and wondering what your intentions are. She says you haven't yet replied."

Everybody looked at Harry expectantly. He thought he might cry off; after all, they had no right to pressure him into any answer. But he owed them. He had their complete loyalty, and deserved the same from him.

In a split second, Harry decided what he'd avoided thinking about all summer. "I'm going back to Hogwarts," he said. "I'll need my seventh year if I want to become an Auror, won't I?"

"Harry!" Hermione grasped his forearms. "I'm so glad! It's for the best. And it'll be easier to gather everybody around you there. Though after what you'd said to Ron..."

"I'd said to Ron that I wasn't going back, but that was right after...you know. At that time, I couldn't imagine returning to Hogwarts. But you know what? I'm not going to let memories of Snape," he spat out the name, "and what he did keep me away from what is probably the safest place in Britain for everybody."

Tonks had been fumbling in a satchel and had dropped things on the floor. She and Remus picked everything up and set them in front of Harry. Remus unshrank the objects to reveal a daunting pile of old books.

"These books aren't on the seventh-year Defence Against the Dark Arts curriculum," said Remus. "Best if you don't share them with the other students. Except Ron and Hermione, of course. Hermione, you could help Harry get through them."

Hermione's face lit up as she helped herself to the topmost book in the stack nearest her and opened it to its frontispiece. "These books aren't even in the Restricted Section, are they?"

"Do you know the title of every book in the Hogwarts library?" asked Tonks, smiling.

Hermione had flipped to the table of contents. "I looked everywhere. Where did you get these?"

Tonks and Remus looked at each other. "Long story," said Tonks.

"They don't want to tell us," said Harry to Hermione, who continued to sit passively, in uncharacteristic silence.

"We're not sure Professor McGonagall doesn't want to discuss that with you herself," said Remus. "She'll be very happy with your decision, by the way. If you had not decided to return to Hogwarts just now, she wanted us to tell you that there are extra protections on the castle since Albus Dumbledore's death. The Ministry's investigation discovered that the wards around Hogwarts have been strengthened such that an incursion of the sort enabled by Draco Malfoy would no longer be possible."

Tonks added, "It's sort of like how your mother's sacrifice put powerful protections upon you when you were at your relatives' house."

Harry snapped, "Professor Dumbledore didn't choose to sacrifice himself on purpose the way my mum did. I thought we all agreed on that." He glared at Hermione, who looked away.

"Of course," said Remus. "But you understand that all of us are trying to figure out how these new wards came to be, that's all."

ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

That night Harry had a dream that started out pleasurably. Snape was being tortured. On his back on the floor, his long, thin limbs jerking about spasmodically, he looked like a giant mutilated spider.

The spell was lifted, and the Dark Lord said, "Explain to me again why you had to tell the old fool so much. Did it occur to you that Draco's task is that much more complicated now?"

Snape had rolled to his side and slowly propped himself up, folding his legs to sit cross-legged, his eyes bright with pain and fear, Harry noted with gratification. "He is as skilled as you at Legilimency, my Lord. I can only maintain his trust if I allow him to scrutinise my mind on a regular basis." His body was shaking, but his voice was surprisingly steady.

"As skilled as me at Legilimency?" The Dark Lord chuckled. "Bella says all your cheek is a sign of disloyalty. I explain to her that no, that's just your nature. But if you are the scorpion, who is the frog? I wonder. Perhaps to you, there is no truth or mendacity; just reality, and those with the power to manipulate our perceptions." He chuckled again. Hand on the doorknob, he paused and turned back. "You are to remain here for the present to give you more time to reflect upon what we've discussed." He gestured, and a heavy chain materialised out of the floor and encircled Snape's feet. "But don't worry; you'll not be missing the start of term feast. I'll want to see your memory of the look on the Chosen One's face when he discovers his most hated teacher is going to be teaching his favourite subject."

The Dark Lord exited, and the door closed behind him with so resounding a thud, Harry thought the shackles on dream-Snape's feet were probably redundant.

Then dream-Snape looked at him, and Harry felt the familiar surge of hatred empowering him. He tried reaching for his wand but was paralysed, pinned down the way you sometimes are in dreams.

Dream-Snape said, "Blocked again and again, and yet again, until you learn to keep your mouth shut and your mind closed, Potter."

Harry awoke with a start, sitting up in bed and groping around on the bedside table for his glasses. As he put his glasses on, he rested a hand against his forehead, but there was no pain in his scar, so it had to be just a dream, and not some reminiscence Voldemort wanted him see.

Snape's words fresh on his mind, but befuddled with new wakefulness, Harry forgot his usual knee-jerk loathing of Snape. For the first time since that terrible day, he reflected on Snape's final words to him with some degree of objectivity.

Why hadn't Snape been gloating over his murder of Dumbledore? Why had his final words to Harry been of the sort that if he was Hermione, he might interpret as helpful, as if Snape was still acting as teacher?

Harry shook his head to clear it. As he became fully awake, his loathing for the murdering git filled his consciousness, throwing all his thoughts into bright clarity.

The man worked as a teacher for sixteen years. Old habits die hard.

ssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

Author's note

Dreaming obsessively about traumatic events is a hallmark of post-traumatic stress disorder. I'd be surprised if Harry didn't suffer from that.

The "along side" expression used by Molly, as in "If I have to come over there, I'll be along side of you!" came to me through my husband's Welsh relatives, so probably it isn't an English expression. Given the Weasley's red hair and complexions, though, I wouldn't be surprised if they had some Celtic blood.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry returned to Grimmauld Place in the midst of a driving rain. It was his turn to spy on the Ministry, but he cut his stint short when the sky began to cloud over and darken so rapidly, he feared the arrival of Dementors. Crouching lower than necessary under his Invisibility Cloak, he made a crab-legged mad dash for the Apparition point.

But it was just an honest summer downpour, and after weeks of dry, hot and sunny weather, Harry enjoyed being soaked to the skin. The Invisibility Cloak made a poor raincoat, and Harry hardly noticed the anti-Snape charms as he was drying himself off and vanishing the mud from his trainers.

As the Dumbledore apparition vanished into the hall rug, Harry noticed Kreacher's voice.

"It's fine, Kreacher," he called. "I cleaned myself up."

But Kreacher wasn't talking to Harry.

"A mudblood living in the house, and you don't object?" the portrait of Mrs Black complained, her voice quivering with incipient hysteria. "What have these fiends done to you?"

"It's for the greater good," crooned Kreacher. Seeing Harry, he closed the curtains on the portrait. "Mistress prefers not to see master." His voice almost sounded apologetic.

"Don't worry, Kreacher. It's mutual."

Entering the kitchen, he announced, "Mrs Black won't talk to me."

Ron was sitting at the table eating a piece of cold chicken. "Lucky 'oo." Swallowing, he continued, "Today she told me that as the only pureblood in the house, I should, if I had any sense of propriety left, chop off Kreacher's head and mount it on the wall next to the others so that we can start remembering him for his years of glorious service and stop him from continuing to demean who he is by helping the half-bloods and the blood-traitors, and so forth." He took another mouthful of food. "I 'aid..." He swallowed. "I said, I can't do that 'cause he's a better cook than my mum."

"Oh, Ron!" chastised Hermione wearily. To Harry, she said, "You're back early. Any trouble?"

He shook his head. "I got caught in a storm, and I wasn't sure how well the Cloak worked if it got soaking wet. But now we know." He hung the sodden cloak at the end of the row of hooks holding other old cloaks. "It works great. Not to keep you dry, though. Water goes through it as if it were mesh."

Hermione nodded. "That makes sense. You'd be less invisible if people could see water deflecting off something."

Ron sighed. "Dull afternoon." He pushed the plate aside, and it vanished, to reappear in the sink with a clatter. "There's something about when it's raining outside, and you feel too tired to do anything, but you're not sleepy, so you can't nap."

"What are you on about?" said Hermione. "If you don't feel like doing anything, that's what books are for."

"Reading is doing something." Ron shrugged. "I was almost hoping Snape would show up."

Hermione looked back down at the book she was reading. "He's evil, but he isn't mad."

Harry pulled up a chair and sat. Kreacher appeared at his elbow. "Is master hungry? Master's friend has an appetite befitting the purity of his blood, but Kreacher has managed to save a piece of chicken for master."

Moments later, fork poised over his food, Harry said, "So Snape's evil now, is he? What happened to your theories? All those supposed inconsistencies around the death of Professor Dumbledore?"

"He's a clever, scheming man," replied Hermione. "He would leave a false trail, wouldn't he? If he could cast doubt upon his allegiances, some people might hesitate if they should face him in battle. Clever really."

Ron was frowning. "There's still that argument between Snape and Dumbledore that Hagrid overheard."

Still not looking up from her book, Hermione shrugged. "They must've been arguing about something else."

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Dumbledore had been fond of saying there were fates worse than death. Whenever Severus looked into the eyes of his former colleagues, he saw many of these being visited upon him in their fantasies. Especially Minerva MacGonagall. If she were psychologically capable of half those transfigurations, she could be a Death Eater to rival Bellatrix for whimsical sadism.

He adjusted his gaze to avoid looking into Minerva's eyes, but didn't want to appear to be intimidated, so he focused on the bridge of her nose. Concentrating on keeping his voice steady, he assumed his most imperious glare. "All matters of discipline will be referred to me and no one else." His gaze slipped to find Minerva's eyes, and he found himself in the middle of a vivid scenario. He was tiny, voiceless, limbless and helpless, on his back on cold stone. As a glittering knife-edge descended, he looked up into his own cold, black eyes and backed out of Minerva's mind to avoid seeing himself chop himself up for a potion.

"Heads of Houses have always had autonomy over the disciplining of their own students, Headmaster," said Minerva. To be fair, she sounded a lot less snide than Severus would have if he were in her shoes.

"These are dangerous days," he replied in a low voice. "Precautions have to be taken."

The Carrows sniggered. Severus acknowledged them with a faint nod and swept his gaze about the room, taking in all the other faces, mutinous and sullen with hatred. Filius Flitwick's musings were somewhat more innocuous than Minerva's, centring on duelling and all the ways he could best Severus, and chastising himself for not realising sooner that Snape was evil, the way the man cheated to win the House cup year after year. On over to Pomona Sprout, who was trying to think of ways to deliver Severus a Carnivorous Hibiscus, much more obscure than a Venomous Tentacula, and maybe the git wouldn't know what it was until it was too late. Then to Filch, who was thinking, finally, the little buggers were going to get what they'd deserved all along.

Horace Slughorn thought maybe he should have forced Dumbledore to expel that werewolf. Considering how the poor Lupin boy's condition rendered him unemployable, what did he need an education for, anyway? And perhaps Severus would have felt vindicated, seeing the system come down on his side for a change, and maybe he wouldn't have sought the protection of the less savoury students in his house. Then again, when it comes to Severus, still waters run deep. Didn't make any sense, that Dumbledore would plead for his life like Harry said. In the meantime, he, Horace, was going to keep an open mind and see what transpired in the fullness of time. And no one could say it wasn't a sensible course to be respectful of people in power.

Horace smiled genially at Severus, who sneered unpleasantly in reply while Minerva turned away in disgust.

Severus looked at Hagrid with some dread. Hagrid had always treated Severus with a level of kindness that had been all too rare in his life. When Severus had returned as a teacher, shockingly youthful and still wild-eyed from his ordeal in the Ministry holding cells, his reputation the subject of many urgent whisperings and sudden conversational lulls when he entered the staffroom, Hagrid alone had greeted him with the same friendly respect as anybody else.

Severus told himself that it didn't matter what Hagrid or anybody else thought since they were all, whatever their allegiances, profoundly wrong anyway, and he couldn't read Hagrid's thoughts regardless because Hagrid's giant blood rendered him almost impervious to magic. But still, he had to brace himself before meeting the gaze of the massive groundskeeper.

Black eyes looked into black eyes, and Severus almost reeled in astonishment. Though he couldn't be sure; damn the man's giant blood. At least if it had to be somebody, it was someone who couldn't be Imperio'ed.

Severus dismissed everyone, acknowledging the Carrows' smug grins with a curt nod, avoiding their eyes. Like all the most devoted of the Dark Lord's servants, their fantasies were motivated by pleasure rather than anger or fear, their darkest wishes closer to the worst nightmares of anybody with a conscience.

When Severus mused on the possibility that he might survive this war, he thought, everybody would turn to him to rehabilitate Slytherin House. And he thought, no, when people conflate healthy self-interest with revolting self-indulgence, ambition with greed, and pride with the murder of those deemed unworthy, death is simpler than trying to fix that.

Severus waited until everybody had left except Hagrid and the Carrows before beckoning to Hagrid. "Wait. There are certain matters I need to make perfectly clear."

The Carrows stopped in their tracks, and Severus was forced to look at them. He willed himself to smile. "Best if I talk to him alone. If I can prove to him I can handle him all by myself, he'll give us less trouble this year."

"Be simpler if we just killed all the half-breeds," said Alecto, grinning back at Severus. Her teeth were even worse than his.

Hagrid didn't react, instead continuing to stare steadily at Severus.

"Perhaps," replied Severus evenly. "But the school still needs a groundskeeper."

"Lucius isn't doing much these days," said Amycus, and brother and sister both laughed.

"I'll keep it in mind," said Severus, and mercifully, they departed, sparing Severus any more accidental glimpses into their plans for rule-breaking students.

Hagrid stood awkwardly, looking down at his massive hands.

"Sit," ordered Severus, waving his wand to enlarge and reinforce the chair in front of his desk. Hagrid sat carefully at first, leaning back with more confidence when the chair didn't splinter under him.

To put his face at the same level as Hagrid's, Severus stood. "Do you have something you want to tell me, Hagrid?"

"Didn' mean to hear it," he mumbled, eyes downcast, wringing his hands.

"Just tell me!" snapped Severus, exasperated. Here was something else to keep hidden from the Dark Lord.

Hagrid looked up, his dark eyes kindly. "He made you do it, didn' he? I knew he was dyin' from that curse--never saw him so weak. He figured that since he was dyin' anyway, he made yeh kill him so you're in the right spot to help Harry. An' it worked." Hagrid smiled. "'Cause here yeh are."

"You need an ally, Severus."

Severus whirled to confront the twinkling blue eyes of the man in the portrait behind his desk.

"I don't need one more person to protect," snapped Severus.

"I don' need protection, Severus," protested Hagrid.

"Stay in the habit of calling me Professor or sir," snapped Severus. "Like you always have done in front of the students."

"Hagrid can help you protect the students from the Carrows," continued Dumbledore. "Perhaps you could convince them that detention with Hagrid is a harrowing enough punishment to mollify their sadistic urges."

"Anybody who went to Hogwarts, and that's just about everybody, knows that detention with Hagrid is hardly punishment at all," said Severus sceptically. "And their sadistic urges are hardly mollified if someone else gets to do the punishing. Unless it's the Dark Lord. Or Bellatrix, maybe."

"Usually by the time they get to me, they've been punished enough," said Hagrid. "Bein' mean to kids doesn't teach 'em anything except how to be mean back."

"If anyone can convince the Carrows, it's you, Severus," said Dumbledore. "Spin tales of horrifying creatures lurking in the forest at Hagrid's beck and call."

"I'd hardly be spinning tales," observed Severus sardonically. He turned to Hagrid. "Though I have to say, these days, muggleborn students would be better off facing hungry Acromantula hordes than the Ministry."

Dumbledore said, "These days, sometimes I regret not letting the centaurs have their way with Dolores Umbridge."

Severus shook his head. "No, you were right, and I was wrong. It would have been extremely hard to explain. And think of the paperwork."

Dumbledore nodded. "There definitely would have been an inquiry."

Severus said to Hagrid, "I can't emphasise enough..."

"Bin keepin' it a secret all this time, haven't I?" Hagrid chuckled. "I jus' knew yeh weren't evil, Sev...Perfessor. I remember when yeh were a little boy..."

"I'm trying to forget that, personally," said Severus, hoping to forestall Hagrid's reminiscence.

"An' I know it couldn't be helped. I on'y wish Professor Dumbledore could've died in bed, surrounded by people who cared about him, who...who would've liked to say good-bye." He took out a handkerchief the size of a pillowcase and mopped his eyes. "Sorry."

"No, I'm sorry, Hagrid," said Dumbledore. "But if I'd let my...sickness progress to the point where I was bedridden..."

"I know, I know." Hagrid blew his nose noisily. "Severus did it quicker an' kinder than some people would've." He put his handkerchief away. "Never made sense to me, how I can kill any of the animals I raise if they're sufferin', an' I have done, an' everybody agrees it's humane, but do it to a person, who can consent better than mos' animals, an' it's murder."

"People at my father's church would say that suffering ennobles the soul," said Severus.

Dumbledore said, "In my experience, people who glorify the nobility of suffering are talking about people other than themselves enduring the pain. Speaking of suffering, how do we address this little problem we have, of trying to minimise the number of students who get detention with the Carrows?"

"You said, 'students would be better off facing Acromantulae than the Ministry,'" said Hagrid.

Severus rolled his eyes. "It was a metaphor, Hagrid."

"I mean, I could tell the Carrows that the forest is swarming with Aragog's descendants, an' I can take 'em into the forest and show 'em. D'ya think threatening students with being eaten by Acromantulae is nasty enough for Death Eaters?"

Severus frowned. "Just how many of them are there? After the death of the big one..."

"They're just in one small area, Perfessor, around Aragog's old lair. Their numbers multiplied to the point where there wasn't enough food, and they started eating each other. Spiders do that, yeh know."

Severus had a mental picture of a magically enlarged Nagini feeding on the body of a former colleague, and shuddered.

Hagrid smiled sympathetically. "They can't help it. It's their nature."

Severus nodded. "Leave me now, Hagrid. I shall have to think on this further."

Severus rose from his chair and began to pace about the office as the half-giant disappeared down the stairs. "Maybe I could keep the Carrows as busy as possible. The Dark Lord is amused by the notion of keeping up appearances--he has advised me to instruct the Carrows on Hogwarts' policies and procedures such as would be taught to legitimate teachers appointed by the Board of Governors. And he's instructed them to heed my advice. I could...I could tell them that the rigorous academic standards of Hogwarts on top of the damage they must undo inflicted by the previous teachers of their respective subjects means that they must assign lots of homework. I'll keep them so busy marking hundreds of feet of parchment, they won't have the time or the energy...what am I saying? They'll make the time." He flopped back into the chair. "What do you think, Dumbledore? Do you think Amycus and Alecto will be distracted from inflicting Unforgivables if the students are given lots of homework? I couldn't be more ridiculous if you dressed me up like Augusta Longbottom."

Dumbledore said, "You have shown that you have the ability to address specific situations as they arise."

"Take things as they come? What is that, a Quidditch strategy?"

"Coming up with plans ahead of time can be discouraging if your plans fail," said Dumbledore. "You dismissed Hagrid rather quickly. Are we expecting another visitor?"

Severus whirled on the portrait. "What are we going to do about all these people who have found me out? And what about the House-Elves?"

Dumbledore said, "The House-Elves pose no danger to us."

"Tell that to Sirius Black."

Dumbledore cocked his head. "We no longer have any emotionally disturbed House-Elves where Dobby can't keep an eye on them. And 'all these people,' Severus? I count only three, including Hagrid, and soon there may be..."

"They live their whole lives as complete dunderheads, and suddenly, when it's least convenient, they have these flashes of inspiration that put me in mortal danger," Severus ranted.

"That's rather sweeping, Severus, and not even true. As I was saying, Hagrid makes three, and soon it may only be two. Miss Tonks believes she convinced Hermione to change her mind."

Severus snorted. "Nymphadora couldn't convince a goblin to covet gold." He turned his back on the portrait and sank wearily into the chair behind his desk. "I suppose we're fortunate Potter isn't as clever as his friend." He looked at his watch. "She's almost late."

Moments later, the sound of someone stumbling on the top step of the staircase heralded the arrival of a visitor to the Headmaster's office.

Tonks stood before Severus, her hair in jet spikes, looking as lethal as a shuriken. Severus nodded, and she nodded back, her face relaxing into something close to its normal insouciance. "Wotcher, Severus."

"News?" he asked, without preamble.

She stood in silence a moment, looking about at the portraits. They were all asleep except for Dumbledore.

"I'll be off the front lines for the time being, though I'm available for messages if necessary." She continued to avoid Severus' gaze another moment before conceding to look at him with an almost audible sigh.

He peered questioningly into her eyes and snorted. "Is that wise? Or did you just forget how to make Contraceptive Potion?"

"What for?" she snapped. "Why the pointless nastiness? Like insulting my Patronus? I was the best Potions student in my year, and I thought I got on with you about as well as anybody from my House could. Then we're in the Order together, and you're spitting venom. _What did I do??"_

"You became an Auror, didn't you?" he replied quietly, tonelessly.

Mimicking his tone, she retorted, "Then I should be grateful that you haven't ripped my face apart."

They glared at each other.

"Touché," he said. "But...having children in the middle of a war..."

"If everybody waited until everything was perfect before having babies, it'd be the end of humanity. And incidentally, you'd be out of a job, considering when the current crop of students was born."

"For some people, it's waiting until they're sure they have enough money to provide for a child. For others, it's waiting until their psychopathic aunt, who has been ordered by a powerful Dark wizard to kill them, has been done away with."

"Why, Severus!" she smiled widely. "You do care. In your own funny way."

He looked away from her smile, his face unreadable. "You should sit," he said.

She looked at the giant chair opposite Severus' desk and frowned. "Who...?"

"None of your concern," Severus snapped, shrinking the chair and cursing his own carelessness. What with all these little slip-ups, maybe Dumbledore was right. Maybe he did have a death wish.

"So you've been successful in convincing Miss Granger not to speak of her deductions," said Severus, invoking a tone of deep scepticism.

"Yes." She sank gratefully into the chair, her innate clumsiness making her ungainly mere weeks into pregnancy. "But I've done more than just convince Hermione to keep her mouth shut. She may now believe you are evil. And you know who helped?"

He raised his eyebrows without interest.

"Mad-Eye! He'd always been on about, if you're such a brilliant Legilimens, why didn't you notice it wasn't him all those months of the Polyjuiced Barty Crouch?"

"He had only one eye to look into, and the magical eye was a huge distraction. And there were no inconsistencies in his behav..."

"Yes, yes, you've said all this before. And I can understand how your history with Mad-Eye would bias you against him to the point where your judgement was clouded, and you couldn't tell the difference between him and a Death Eater."

_"My_ judgement was clouded?" he said, bristling. "May I remind you that everybody else was fooled, too?"

"Yes, well, everybody else weren't accomplished Legilimens who were acquainted with both Mad-Eye and Barty Crouch."

"All you're convincing me of at the moment is how much you love the sound of your own voice," he snapped. "How many times do we have to revisit this?"

Undeterred, she continued, "When you killed Dumbledore, Mad-Eye took it as proof positive that you knew it was Barty Crouch all along."

Severus said drily, "Dumbledore was a more powerful Legilimens than I. Did Moody also believe that Dumbledore was secretly evil?"

"Only Rita Skeeter believes that," quipped Dumbledore from his portrait.

Tonks raised her hands. "All I'm trying to say here is that Mad-Eye didn't keep his opinions to himself, and Hermione said that she was always troubled by the Barty Crouch debacle as well. And when he told her it was you who ripped his face apart, well..."

"Did anybody mention the rather extreme provocation I'd received at his hands?"

"You know, whatever you thought of Mad-Eye, he wasn't proud of using the Cruciatus Curse. He didn't go around bragging about using it. Not even on you."

"Did you enlighten Miss Granger?"

"I'm not stupid, Severus. Even if I did show such extreme lack of judgement that I became an Auror. And now you don't have to worry about Hermione trying to convince Harry you're on our side."

Severus nodded. "She didn't have much of a chance, I dare say."

Tonks shrugged. "Harry's more open-minded than you might think. He's more anything than you might..."

"Did you consider the implications of bearing a werewolf's child before you..."

"Did you consider that insulting everybody who challenges your assumptions is, as ploys go, pretty transparent?"

"I always thought so, too," said Dumbledore. "But Severus has enough on his plate for the moment without..."

"Without everybody patronising me," interrupted Severus smoothly. "Now that Nymphadora is out, who will be my connection to the Order?"

"I can't see any reason why you can't keep using my name when you're passing information from Dumbledore to You-Know-Who," said Tonks. "Like you keep reminding me, he's ordered me killed, so there's no reason why I can't go on being your 'source.'"

"Your credibility is strengthened in one respect," said Severus. "You were foolish enough to believe that Dumbledore ordered me to kill him, and now you're foolish enough to have a baby in the midst of this."

She grinned. "Just doing what I can for the cause." She clapped a hand to her mouth. "Pardon me. Do you have anything for morning sickness? I tried making something on the weekend, but I can't brew potions these days. The smell of the ingredients makes me sick. And Remus is hopeless at it."

"I will have a House-Elf bring you something, but you shouldn't linger in the castle. Everybody knows you're for Bellatrix, and no one will kill you, but the Cruciatus Curse, if cast on a pregnant woman, kills the fetus."

Her eyes widened in shock and horror, telling him, without Legilimency, that she didn't know this, and he despaired once again about the quality of Dark Arts education in this country.

Recovering her composure, Tonks rose slowly to her feet. "Take care of yourself, Severus."

He nodded. "I'll try not to get myself killed before I outlive my usefulness."

"Severus..." She paused at the top of the stairs, but he'd lowered his head in his hands, covering his face.

The sympathy in her gaze made him weary. There were four hours left in this day before he could retreat to his quarters in the dungeons and open that bottle of elf-made cognac Dobby had presented him with at the end of his first day as Headmaster.

"Someday, Harry Potter will understand," the House-Elf had said.

Severus wondered how much he cared. The salvation for his reputation lay in the hands of a half-giant, a pregnant soon-to-be-fugitive Auror, the Hogwarts House-Elves, and a portrait of the most Machiavellian Headmaster Hogwarts had ever seen. But he was going to be dead in any event, so what did his reputation matter?


	6. Chapter 6

_"Mimbulus mimbletonia," _intoned Neville, but the gargoyle only looked at him with an expression that was, well, stony.

Ginny sighed. "It wasn't a bad idea, Neville. But latin binomial plant names are long, and I think Snape would favour a password that's more...terse. For if he wants to get into his office in a hurry. And he's an impatient man in general."

"I've enjoyed hearing all those plant names. Reminds me of the random beauty of cross-pollination," said Luna.

"Potions masters know their plants," muttered Neville, pensive and slightly defensive. "And probably he can 'say' the password non-verbally, which would be much faster than speaking it aloud."

"Is that possible?" asked Ginny.

"My father always uses his passwords non-verbally," said Luna. "Otherwise, wizards from rival publications could spy on him, overhear his password, then break in and steal his ideas."

Ginny shrugged. "Makes sense, I guess. A password is just another kind of spell after all."

Luna, Neville and Ginny were standing in front of the gargoyle guarding the staircase to the Hogwarts Headmaster's office. As a cover, they would assume expressions of abject misery whenever anybody approached, as if Snape had ordered them to wait there until he returned to mete out whatever heinous punishments he was using these days.

"What about curse names?" whispered Ginny. _"'Sect...'"_

"That would be kind of obvious, don't you think?" said Luna. "And dangerous, too. What if he was rushing to his office and forgot he had his wand in his hand?"

After a pause as a group of first-years rushed past, the expressions on their faces a mixture of fear and pity, Ginny said, "I don't think he forgets much. You're right, though, about curse names being obvious."

_"Echinacea augustifolia," _said Neville desperately, and nodded his head, less surprised than the other two when the gargoyle slid aside and allowed them to ascend the moving staircase of stone.

"If I had been thinking straight, that would have been one of the first I tried," said Neville as he opened the door at the top of the staircase. _"Echinacea _species, or coneflowers, are used for healing by wizards and Muggles alike. Snape being a half-blood, he'd appreciate that duality. And like I first said, no one would expect him to use a flower name as a password."

"Surely he'd be wanting to downplay his Muggle blood these days," retorted Ginny.

"But he's a proud man," said Luna. "The Half-Blood Prince would enjoy being the highest status Death Eater over all those pure-bloods."

"Yes. And the Carrows don't know much about Herbology," said Neville. "Probably even less than I know about unlocking spells."

The three were standing before a glass case containing a magnificent, ruby-encrusted sword.

In the spirit of experimentation, Luna cast her wand towards the case. _"Alohomora," _she intoned.

They were not surprised when the lock on the case didn't budge.

"Do you think the case is also password-protected?" said Luna. She cast her wand again. _"Lilium."_

Again, nothing happened.

"Lilies?" inquired Neville, puzzled.

"We always grew lots of _Echinacea _at home Both _augustifolia, _and the _purpura _species also, I think. We kept them because they're a natural repellent against attacks by the Ravening Throckmorton, but my mum always said lilies are the ideal companion for coneflowers in a proper garden."

Ginny snorted. "Snape's only use for flowers is to chop them up for potions. And..." she stepped closer to the case, "I'm beginning to think he doesn't have much protection on this case at all. He wouldn't expect just anybody to get in here uninvited. I'll put up a Shield Charm just in case, though."

She cast a shattering hex, and the case fell apart. The three winced at the extremely loud, if oddly musical, discordant cacophony glass shards make when they collide with a stone floor.

"That was too easy," said Ginny. "Neville...don't! It could be a trap."

"We don't have time," said Neville. "Snape could return any minute." He'd lowered his Shield Charm and reached among the shards to grasp the sword by its handle and heft it, turning it about in his hands.

"It's magnificent," breathed Luna. "But how long does it usually take when someone is Summoned by You-Know-Who?" She shrugged. "I guess it could take forever, depending."

"How do you know it was You-Know-Who who Summoned him, anyway?" asked Ginny, looking anxiously towards the fireplace.

Neville replied, "When he grasped his left arm, he bent over nearly double. If it was one of the other Death Eaters, it wouldn't hurt nearly as much, if at all. From how it looks, anyway. That's odd." He was pointing the sword at the stone ceiling and examining it in the torch light. As he turned it about in his hand, its bright blade reflected slanting trapezoids of light at the portraits lining the walls. A couple of the portraits' occupants raised their hands over their eyes and grumbled in sleepy protest.

"What's odd?" asked Ginny.

"You would think for its size, it'd be heavier...oh _fuck!"_

The three students looked on in horror as the fireplace glowed green for a moment before a tall, thin, black-clad figure emerged upon the hearth, redundantly brushing bits of black soot from his robes.

An unpleasant smile spread across Severus Snape's face as he approached the students. "Friends of Harry Potter breaking into my office. How astonishing." He didn't look astonished at all. And to the students' increasing horror, neither did he seem at all angry.

"The sword doesn't belong to you," snapped Ginny.

"You are correct, Miss Weasley. The sword is the property of this school."

With a sweep of Snape's wand, the sword swept out of Neville's hand back into the remnants of its former case. Another wand wave and the broken glass rose like a reverse waterfall to enclose the sword as before.

After the last twinkling shard disappeared into a smooth glass face, the trio looked reluctantly to the Headmaster. His wand already out of sight, he returned their gaze, face expressionless.

"I can't begin to guess what you three are playing at. You don't know where Potter is any more than I do. So how would you give him the sword? By owl post?"

He raised his wand again, and the three cringed, but he merely aimed it at the hearth. Something white disappeared up the fireplace flue.

"You students have helped usher in a new era at Hogwarts. Previously, breaking into the Headmaster's office and attempting to steal priceless artefacts would warrant expulsion. Over the years, I had protested that expelling miscreants releases them and all their problems onto society at large. But now that _I_ am Headmaster," he smiled, and it was terrible, "we believe in _rehabilitation."_

A heavy tread could be heard on the stairs. Hagrid eased his massive bulk through the doorway. "You sent for me, Headmaster?"

"Take these students to that part of the forest we discussed."

The half-giant's shoulders slumped. "Yes, Headmaster."

Hagrid said nothing and did not look at the trio until they were outside. "Try an' look scared an' miserable," he stage-whispered. "Yeh need t' put on a good show for the Carrows, in case they see us."

"And for Professor Snape," said Neville.

"Right," said Hagrid absently.

Luna said, "Did Professor Snape ever get detention with you when he was a student?"

"We'll not talk of Professor Snape," said Hagrid. "Some of us remember him as a boy. Professor Slughorn, Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick, me...we're all heartbroken."

Luna continued, "Remember when Harry said Professor Snape called his mum a Mudblood? So he must have had detention with you sometimes, if he used language like that."

Hagrid took out an enormous handkerchief and wiped at his eyes. "I tried t' set him on the right path. T' show him kindness he hardly ever got. I gave him a bearded dragon to look after--they're legal--an' he took very good care of it."

Luna said, "So Snape knows that detention with you is more of an interesting adventure than punishment."

Hagrid whirled on her. "Don' yeh go sayin' that. Lives are at stake!"

"What do you mean?" asked Ginny.

Neville said, "All of us are in mortal danger these days."

Hagrid said roughly, "Then there's no need t' go repeatin' things tha' make it worse for some people."

"But if..." began Ginny.

"Keep your thoughts t' yourself!" Hagrid implored. They continued to walk in silence for several minutes before Hagrid added, "Professor Snape is very busy these days, wha' with bein' Headmaster, an' worryin' about friends of Professor Dumbledore--great man, Dumbledore; everyone was his friend--hexing him from behind. Quicker an' easier for him to just hand misbehavin' students off t' me."

Too busy for _Crucio?_ thought Ginny. The only teacher before the Carrows arrived who tortured students was Dolores Umbridge. Between all those Educational Decrees, the high level of pranking that year, and taking over as Headmistress, she made the time. But Snape? He was as psychologically abusive as ever, but when you thought about it, he was no worse than in previous years. And as far as she'd heard, he'd not used the Cruciatus Curse on a single student thus far. Unfettered from Dumbledore's shackles, he could be slicing Muggle-borns to ribbons just for the fun of it when he wasn't inflicting _Crucio _on gum-chewers or students caught running in the corridors. Instead, he was diverting all his detentions to Hagrid. The same Hagrid whose detentions were barely distinguishable from his Care of Magical Creatures classes, other than you had to clean up after the Thestrals more.

Ginny laughed out loud. The others turned and looked askance.

"Oh...I was just thinking about the look on Snape's face when he caught us in his office."

"Tha' was foolish!" said Hagrid reprovingly, wagging a massive finger at the three of them. "You were very lucky..."

"That the Carrows didn't catch us?" said Ginny. "I was just thinking the same thing."

"I wasn' goin' to say that!" protested Hagrid.

"As Death-Eaters go, Snape's not so bad," said Luna seriously.

"STOP it!" said Hagrid.

Neville was frowning. "Still - he _did_ kill Dumbledore. Doesn't that mean he's probably You-Know-Who's right-hand man?"

Hagrid stopped so abruptly the three almost piled into him. "Here yeh are." He removed three shovels from inside his massive coat. "Perfessor Sprout needs more Thestral dung for the Snargaluff pods. You can all see it, can't yeh?"

Ginny wrinkled her nose. "We can smell it. What do we put it in?"

"Right." Hagrid fumbled inside his coat and took out a wheelbarrow. "Almost thought I'd forgot it." He glared at them. "Yeh have to look more miserable when we return. The Carrows are getting suspicious."

After Hagrid and the students departed, the man who had replaced Phineas Nigellus as Hogwart's most unpopular Headmaster sank into his chair, resting his chin on one hand.

"Headmaster," said Phineas. "About the pitfalls of self-indulgent passwords..."

"Yes, yes; I'll change it immediately." Severus rose from his chair and swept down the stairs until he stood just above the gargoyle. It looked at him questioningly until Severus performed the requisite wand wave.

"Well?" he snapped, putting his wand away.

"Dumbledore," replied the gargoyle, glowing momentarily before turning to face the lower entrance to the staircase, implacable once more.

Returning to his office, Severus found Dilys Derwent frowning at him. "Is that wise?"

"He's commemorating his victory over me," said Dumbledore wryly. "Or so the Carrows would think."

"But it also provides a valuable clue to the location of the real sword," retorted Dilys. "The goblins already know _that_ one's a fake." She inclined her head to indicate the sword within the newly-repaired glass case.

"Regardless of what they know, the goblins continue to abstain from the war," said Severus snidely. By now he was standing on the hearth, gathering Floo powder with one hand, and covering an enormous yawn with the other.

"But the goblins will boast of how they've discovered the deception," said Dumbledore gently. "Best if we discuss this now. I'm sorry, Severus. I've deprived you of enough sleep in your life, I dare say."

Severus sighed and let the powder trickle away from between his fingers. "I'll sleep when I'm dead."

ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

He flew from tree to tree, looking much more like an overgrown bat than even Quirell could have imagined. His pleasure at this new found skill was genuine, and he allowed himself to enjoy the thrill of swooping soundlessly, knowing he alone was the only Death Eater to whom the Dark Lord had taught this spell.

Now that the Ministry was overthrown, he could no longer skulk about pretending that any inconsistencies in his behaviour were due to his role as a double agent. He was in the spotlight now as the Dark Lord's right-hand man, while the others, consumed by jealousy and fear, scrutinised him for weaknesses.

Emotions were hard to hide and even harder to fake, and he'd long since taken every vestige of fear, anger, grief, self-doubt, despondency, and anything else that revealed him as all too human, and tamped them down under a shell in his psyche that masqueraded as teenage angst. Whenever the Dark Lord tried to penetrate the secret and traitorous part of Severus' mind, he was confronted with the topmost memory, a particularly humiliating incident when Lily had found Severus shortly after he'd been bested by the Marauders. Shivering, vomiting, and covered with boils (but mercifully, fully-dressed), Severus had attempted to conceal himself by crawling behind a suit of armour and was searching his pockets for some sort of antidote when Lily happened around the corner. His shame at being found like this permeated the memory, and the disgusting physical condition in which she found him repelled the Dark Lord enough to go elsewhere in Severus' mind rather than burrow any deeper in that place.

True, the Dark Lord had uncovered would-be double agents before. Their fear and loathing were palpable as beacons, regardless of whatever meagre skills at Occlumency they might possess, and he would nudge aside any such barriers as easily as a garden gate to discover their disloyalties on display for him bright as treasures. The former Tom Riddle knew from his Hogwarts days that he was far more clever and magically powerful than most wizards. He would never imagine that he could teach his most trusted Death-Eater how to fly, and the man would respond with stupid, cringing gratitude while secretly regarding him as the vile, snake-faced barely-human who murdered Lily.

Albus Dumbledore had said that the Dark Lord hated people because he did not understand them. Severus had disagreed, saying, how could a genius who was skilled in Legilimency not understand people? He could literally see right through them, after all.

But now that Severus was forced to divide himself into two so that one part of him could hide, waiting and watching, while the part people could see took genuine pleasure in the delicious food served at the Malfoys' as the body of a former colleague was being devoured by a magically-enlarged snake at his feet, he could see what Dumbledore meant.

The Dark Lord's contempt for humanity was his blind spot. He did not care enough about Severus, or any human, to sink deeply enough into his mind and discover his true nature. And he was too arrogant to acknowledge that people less clever or magically powerful than he had any such depths.

Severus alighted on a sturdy-looking branch of a wand tree overhanging a frozen pond. Circumnavigating the area around where Potter, Granger, and the youngest Weasley boy were camping, he could find nothing other than this pond at a reasonable walking distance from the campsite that could provide a likely site for the necessary challenge. The rest of the area was just trees and rocks, and bloody cold. He cast another warming charm on himself. Being cold made him feel lonely and helpless, like he was a child again, dependant on parents who couldn't be bothered with buying him warm winter clothing. The first thing he did when he finally had money was buy a good supply of adequate robes in heat-absorbing black.

Severus aimed his wand at the pond and cast a silencing charm before cracking its surface. Sending the sword to the bottom, he refroze the pond before alighting on the ground to search for a likely spot, a place where he could hide while he cast another spell, and soon found two close-together trees.

_"Expecto patronum!"_


	7. Chapter 7

There was a whispering amongst the portraits. He ignored it as he continued to write, hooked nose almost touching the parchment, greasy black hair obscuring his profile. A coil of parchment covered with spiky, cramped script had rolled off the front of the desk and nearly touched the floor opposite to where the black-haired man was sitting, more of his writing continuing to slip out from under his ink-stained fingers.

"Headmaster," said Phineas Nigellus. "The Sentry says the Carrows request an audience."

"'Request an audience,'" repeated Severus derisively.

"You told us not to let them just barge right in here whenever they wanted. Do you need a moment?" Phineas looked pointedly at Severus' parchment.

"Right." Severus sat up straight and cast spells to dry the ink and roll up the parchment with a snap before bunging it into a drawer and sealing it in with a series of gutteral-sounding, half-whispered spells.

Phineas looked askance at Severus. "I'm not sure how I feel about the former Head of Slytherin using goblin wards."

"You weren't sure how you felt about the Head of Slytherin being a half-blood," retorted Severus.

"How many times, and in how many ways, do I have to retract that?" protested Phineas.

Footsteps could be heard on the stairs. Severus cast a spell to vanish the ink from his fingers. Just before the door opened, the former Headmasters of Hogwarts slumped in their portraits, and were soon, each of them, the picture of deep slumber, oblivious to the world of the living once more.

"Amycus. Alecto. What a pleasant surprise," said Severus, smiling faintly, and sipped from a cup of tea, a copy of the Daily Prophet opened in front of him.

"There's a problem, Snape," began Amycus.

"Which we could have told you about sooner, if you ever turned up for meals," said Alecto.

"I prefer not to eat in the presence of people who regard me as their bitter enemy," said Severus.

"You're the Headmaster. Do as you like, far as I'm concerned," said Amycus. To his sister he said, "It makes sense, I think. They could hex him when his back was turned. Especially the Animagus MacGonagall. You see the way she looks at him? Or they could slip something into his food."

"POISON the Dark Lord's Potions master? I doubt that very much..."

"You both have classes soon," said Severus, steepling his hands on his desk. "What is this problem that can't wait?"

"It's that filthy half-breed, Hagrid. We've been following him when he takes students into the Forest for the past couple of detentions."

"Have you?" said Severus, controlling his voice.

"Yes, and it's just like we suspected. He makes them do some chores, like. And then," Alecto paused to shudder. "And then...he talks to them about how wonderful the spiders are."

"A nature walk is hardly fitting punishment for these nosy little know-it-alls," said Amycus, "But do you know what Hagrid did yesterday?"

"I can't begin to guess," said Severus, anticipating genuine anger.

"He hosted a 'Support Harry Potter' party IN HIS HOUSE! And you know who he invited? All the very same students he took on those phoney detentions. And some others, too. And he _made a cake_ for them!!"

Severus leapt to his feet, his face white with real anger. However much he respected Hagrid, the man was a terrible, horrible, dreadful spy, and now he would have to leave. Suppressing the thought that being fed cake baked by Hagrid was a dire enough punishment of which the Dark Lord might heartily approve, Severus said, "Have you called the Ministry?"

"We thought we should inform you first," said Amycus.

Severus nodded. "I'll call the Ministry. But let's summon Hagrid first. It would be easier for the Aurors if they don't have to pursue him through the Forest. And his explanation should be amusing, I dare say."

The siblings sniggered as Severus gestured at the flue with his wand. A few minutes later, they could hear Hagrid's heavy tread on the stairs.

"You sen' for me, Headmaster?" said Hagrid, favouring the Carrows with a curious glance.

"Hosting a 'Support Harry Potter' party _in your house?_ I always thought you were a half-wit. But apparently, I overestimated," said Severus snidely.

Hagrid looked between Severus and the Carrows. "The kids are scared. They're jus' kids. They needed to forget abou' things for a while. It was jus' an excuse for a party..."

"Poor babies," crooned Alecto. "Sounds like they need more special attention."

Severus continued, "Are you sure you're half giant? From the looks of you, I'd say you're half _mountain _troll."

Hagrid's puzzled look disappeared, his brow smoothing. He drew himself up to his full, considerable height. "I don' care what you think I am. I know what I am, an' I'm proud. An' I'll tell you something else."

Severus was shaking his head at Hagrid almost imperceptibly. But to Hagrid, it was completely imperceptible.

"Albus Dumbledore was a great man," proclaimed Hagrid, puffing out his chest and planting his hands on his hips. "I always said that. An' I always will."

"You should have seen the 'great man' pleading for his life, helpless as a Muggle," gloated Alecto.

Hagrid glared at Severus. "So it's true, then? Wha' Harry Potter said?"

Severus grinned widely. Aiming carefully, he pointed his wand at Hagrid's chest. _"Crucio!"_

The spell deflected off Hagrid's massive coat and struck Amycus full-on. The Death Eater fell to the floor writhing and screaming.

"So you are half-giant after all," remarked Severus. "Only half-human, and barely a wizard."

"Your pitiful spells don' work on ME!!" exclaimed Hagrid, gesticulating melodramatically.

"You have no hope of FLEEING!" said Severus, widening his eyes at Hagrid. He turned back to the Carrows. Amycus was hobbling back to his feet with help from his sister. "Inform the Ministry while I hold him."

Alecto ran across the room. "Pius Thicknesse," she shouted, throwing down a handful of Floo powder in the area of the hearth.

"YOU'LL NEVER TAKE ME ALIVE!!" shouted Hagrid, and he wedged himself out the door while Severus and Amycus ineffectually rained spells upon his back.

Alecto fell backwards upon the hearth with a shriek. "Blocked. The Minister was right in front of me, and I was thrown back."

"AFTER HIM!!" shouted Severus, and the Carrows ran to pursue Hagrid down the stairs.

Severus held back, looking questioningly at the portrait behind his desk. But the former Headmaster would only smile, blue eyes twinkling maddeningly.

There was a sound of a scuffle, muffled curses, and a howl of pain before the Carrows reappeared. Alecto's nose was bleeding profusely.

_"Episkey," _said Severus pointing his wand at Alecto, and she winced as her nose healed.

"The bloody door at the bottom of the bloody stairs bloody closed," snarled Amycus.

"Don't be absurd. There's no door at the bottom of the stairs," retorted Severus.

"SO IT'S ANOTHER OF THE PRANKS OF THIS BLOODY SCHOOL!! The bloody moving staircases, the bloody poltergeist throwing bloody water balloons, the bloody rooms that sometimes aren't bloody there - where's the educational value in all this?! I ask you?" ranted Amycus.

_"I_ wanted to deliver the half-breed to the Aurors," whined Alecto. "It's not fair. The gargoyle said we needed a password to exit. So I said, _"Dumbledore," _and it said, no; that's the password for coming in. Ran right into the bloody door, I did."

"And the bloody Floo isn't bloody working," said Amycus, who had wandered over to the hearth and thrown most of Severus' supply of Floo powder hither and thither in his futile attempts to leave.

Severus shook his head. "When the office seals itself, there's no coming or going until the Headmaster personally clears the way." He descended the staircase and walked towards what the Carrows called a door, but in reality was a solid stone wall sealing off the gargoyle's niche. Involuntarily he closed his eyes when he hit the wall, just as he used to at Platform 9 3/4, but there was nothing there, not even motes of dust when he opened his eyes.

He returned to his office to find brother and sister peering out the window.

"Thicknesse received enough of my message," said Alecto, beaming, and gestured out the window. "The Aurors. They're here."

Standing beside Alecto, Amycus shook his head. "Too late. Hagrid ran into the Forest, where he met a giant, who could see over the trees to where the Aurors were. Hagrid and the giant fled the grounds together." He turned to look at Severus. "Can Hagrid Disapparate?"

"No idea," answered Severus honestly.

"I thought the giants were on our side," said Alecto.

"The support of the giants is provisional at best," said Severus. "Leave me. And forget your classes; by now, you're hopelessly late. Find the Aurors, and report back to me."

After the door closed behind the Carrows, Dumbledore said, "Hagrid and Grawp should be halfway to the mountains by now."

Severus nodded. He looked out over the forest to the nebulous irregular outline barely visible on the horizon and felt pierced with envy.

Dumbledore continued, "The Carrows' suspicions were mounting for months. It is well Hagrid left when he did. Things could have gone much worse."

"Obviously," Severus snapped. "He should have left sooner in the conversation. As soon as I said, 'mountain,' he was supposed to flee. Instead, he dawdled..."

"...hoping that something might happen to forestall his departure. He understands the difficulty of your position now."

Severus sprawled in his chair, crossing an ankle over one knee, dangling his arms over the armrests. "Maybe if we took Minerva into our confidence..."

The former Headmaster shook his head. "Too dangerous."

Severus made a dismissive gesture. "I''ve been in danger a long time, and she's still officially the Deputy Headmistress. I could assign her disciplinary duties to take up the slack in the wake of Hagrid's departure. And I think she'd have better sense than to start throwing any 'Support Harry Potter' parties in the Gryffindor common room."

"Severus, you've been saying how disappointed you are in Minerva..."

"I'm very disappointed. Look at how readily she believed me to be evil. All these years we worked together, and I thought she might have deduced the truth, if Hagrid could."

"Unlike Hagrid, she didn't know I was dying. But she could see that I was gravely sick. When you killed me, she may have suspected that there was a plan between us, and she's furious that we didn't involve her."

"I haven't seen any hint of that in her mind," Severus argued.

"Minerva and I were friends for decades before you were born," said Dumbledore. "It's possible I've mentioned to her my aversion to a lingering death. Imagine how slighted she must feel. She's no Occlumens, but she can sublimate her feelings, appearing as if she is motivated by something completely different. She already understands more than she thinks she does, but we can't actively involve her because she is too independent-minded, and may act on her own, doing something to attract Tom's personal attention."

"How very like a cat she is."

"You have no idea."

"So what you're telling me is, the only person who can end this situation is the Dark Lord."

"Yes, let's hope he attacks the school soon," said Phineas snidely. "That should keep the students safe from detention."

"Phineas!" snapped Dilys Derwent. "Our support for the Headmaster is always unwavering."

"That includes helping him to see sense," retorted Phineas.

"That doesn't include showing him disrespect!"

"What is it?" said Severus sharply, addressing Dumbledore, his voice cutting across the rising babble from the portraits.

"Harry Potter needs to find something that may be hidden in the school," said Dumbledore. "But if he does that before...what I mean to say is, he may be able to avoid leading Tom here for the final confrontation."

Severus rolled his eyes. "Once again, telling me nothing at all. I wish for once you would be more terse about it."

"I left you some books that would have explained much, but..."

"Books that flew out the window," said Severus with a snort. "How convenient." He sat back in the chair.

Dumbledore smiled at Severus. "I'm certain you already know how you are going to convince Harry."

Severus sighed. "Show him my memories. It's just that...you understand that I'd rather be _Cruciod _by Bellatrix in front of the Dark Lord than show Potter any more of my memories."

Dumbledore said, "That memory he saw before, in the Pensieve, strengthened your credibility."

"Yes, yes; I understand the importance of my humiliation in defeating the Dark Lord."

"Severus..."

"Then again, I continue to hold out hope that Potter will get himself killed by the Dark Lord without any help from me."

sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

"I've decided not to go to Aunt Muriel's with you lot," announced Toby.

Molly and Arthur, who had been readying their luggage in the kitchen, stopped their bustling about.

"Nonsense," said Molly. "As a house guest, you're practically invisible."

"As a house guest, I've been entirely useless," countered Toby. "You've been gracious. But I can't just sit and wait anymore. I need a task."

"Let's have some tea," said Arthur, rummaging in a box on the kitchen table to remove the kettle.

Moments later, the three sat at the table, steaming cups in front of them.

"It isn't because of Muriel, is it?" asked Molly.

"I remember at the wedding, you remarked on her comments about the 'Muggleborn,'" said Arthur.

Toby grinned and shook his head. "The way she looked at me, it was as if she could see through that glamour you cast on me and sense my Muggleness. But no; after what my own wife...I think I could ignore anything Muriel would say."

"I could talk to Kingsley Shacklebolt," said Arthur. "Maybe he could arrange to hide you with some other Muggles under the Order's protection. Like the Dursleys."

"The Dursleys?" Toby looked thoughtful. "I knew some Dursleys. Their son married the sister of a girl who was a friend of my son's when he was a boy."

Arthur's eyes widened. "Really?! What were the names of the..."

"Oh, Arthur!" Molly scoffed. "There are tens of millions of Muggles in Britain. What is the likelihood?"

"I'm not hiding any more," said Toby. "Not with wizards or Muggles." He looked at Molly and Arthur in turn. "What I intend to do may kill me, but...I can't continue on like this.

"I intend to clear my son's name."

The Weasleys stared at Toby.

"Why don't you wait until after the war?" asked Molly, her eyes compassionate.

Toby leaned back in his chair, quiet for a moment before continuing. "I was an angry young man. I'd work my arse off all day and come home to a miserable wife and an ungrateful son. I still think life is unfair, but I've accepted it, I guess. My son has made some bad decisions in his life, and maybe if I'd set a better example, he'd have been more sensible. But if there's anything I know for certain, it's that _my son isn't evil. _He was a clever and quiet boy who liked to read books. I wager he joined up with the murderous thugs because he thought he would look tougher than he was, or for protection, or to impress a girl - who knows? But he isn't the type himself, see? I've known blokes, and I've worked with blokes who would frighten the Krays, and my son is just not the type. It's the instinct of a dad. Am I making any sense?"

"You are," said Molly, eyes brimming.

"He killed Albus Dumbledore," said Arthur gently.

"I don't question what Harry Potter saw," said Toby. "He seems like a sensible and honest lad. But your magical world is full of tricks, and I don't think Harry Potter knows the whole story. I plan to contact my son and find out what really happened. If he...if he does not survive this, and I do, at least I would be able to set the record straight."

"You can't go on the grounds of the school," said Arthur. "There are Dementors, and..."

"I'm not stupid," said Toby. "I'll make my way to Hogsmeade, and make contact with my son, convincing him to come and see me. My wife and I stayed there before at a place where the owner didn't care to know our business, or that I'm a Muggle. I've already written to him." He held up a piece of stationery embossed with the letterhead:

Hogs Head Inn

Comfortable Rooms

Reasonable Rates

"It's rather a rude letter," continued Toby. "Aberforth - the owner - tells me I'm a complete imbecile, if I come there I'll die horribly, the town is overrun with people whose entire purpose in life is to torture the likes of me into insanity before chopping me up into pieces small enough to feed to vermin, and so on. And if I do come, make sure it's during the day, as there's a curfew, and wear wizard robes. Erm...could I borrow some?"

Arthur opened one of the suitcases and removed a heap of muddy-looking cloth. "You shouldn't attract too much attention in this," he said, shaking out the garment. "It's got an Inconspicuous Charm on it, causing it to change colours such that the wearer tends to blend into the scenery." As he passed it to Toby, its muddy hue shifted to match the wooden table.

Toby held it up against himself. "How well does it work if its wearer has bright red hair?"

Arthur chuckled. "When the hood is down, not so well."

Molly was frowning. "Be sure and keep the hood up. There's a family resemblance, and your son would be well-known in Hogsmeade."

"Really? I always thought he took after his mother." Toby was bent over his suitcase, tucking the robe inside, and missed most of the non-verbal argument between the Weasleys. He straightened to see Molly shaking her head while Arthur countered with vigorous nods and Gallic shrugs.

Toby smiled. "During one of his adolescent rages, my son said to his mother, _'Why_ did you have to marry a Muggle? A Muggle with THAT NOSE?? I'll keep it out of sight as much as possible. And I've got myself a pair of thick-framed glasses. Not very fashionable, but they obscure my profile somewhat. And even if anybody does notice a resemblance, how likely are they to think it's actually me?"

About seventy hours later, Toby stood on the front stoop of the Hogs Head, attempting to turn the doorknob. But it seemed to be jammed.

The doorknob disappeared from his hand as someone opened the door from the inside. A tall, thin man standing before him, straight-backed despite his advanced years, regarded him critically with bright-blue eyes. "Come off the street, you idiot," he hissed. "Anybody would know that nose anywhere."

Toby stepped inside and removed the heavy glasses from his face, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I am grateful..."

"Well, you shouldn't be," snapped Aberforth. "I knew there was no keeping you from sneaking into Hogsmeade any way you could. At least you're under my protection. But other than keeping you from being tortured to death - and I mean that literally - I can't help you. The Death Eaters have their own way of communicating. It's literally branded into them. There's no way of getting a message to your son."

"He's utterly isolated," said Toby sadly.

"He killed my brother," said Aberforth bluntly, but without malice, and he folded his arms, watching Toby closely.

Toby met Aberforth's gaze. "Tell me about your brother."

Aberforth let out a short, surprised laugh. "Well - he didn't deserve to die, did he?"

"But did he want to?" asked Toby reasonably.

Aberforth waved his wand about the room. "Don't _ever_ say anything like that again until after I've cast an Imperturbable Charm." He went behind the bar to reappear moments later with a basket of bread, a wedge of cheese, and a bottle.

"I'll show you to your room. We'll talk in there."

Toby eyed the bottle. "I don't drink anything alcoholic."

Aberforth looked back at Toby in surprise. "That's not what I..."

"Not in fifteen years," said Toby firmly.

Aberforth nodded. "I'll fetch you some butterbeer." He continued to lead Toby up the stairs. "As I was saying, don't talk to anybody, and stay in your room. Your meals will be brought to you either by me, or by Dobby - that's the House elf."

The stairs opened to a sitting room. A single candle reduced to a puddle of wax guttered feebly on a side table. Glowing embers smouldered on a hearth beneath an oil painting cast in shadow by the darkness of the room and the edge of the mantle.

"I don't remember this room," remarked Toby.

"And you'll never see it again," said Aberforth, pushing through a door at the far side of the room to enter a narrow corridor that lead to the back staircase Toby remembered climbing on previous visits. Doors lead to small rooms on either side of the corridor. He looked back at the door they just passed through to see this sign:

Private

Do Not Enter

Privée

Ne Pas Entrer

Aberforth tapped on the sign with a long bony finger. "Heed this sign. No matter what you might hear."

"Why don't you just lock the door?" asked Toby.

"That's the fire exit, isn't it? Not good for business if my boarders burn to death."

Toby was about to reply that it would be equally bad for business if the entire building burned down when a loud crash sounded from the other side of the door.

"Hello?!" called a young male voice.

"Bloody Merlin," muttered Aberforth and turned to drop the basket of bread and cheese into Toby's arms, gesturing with the Firewhisky bottle. "Your room is second on the left. We'll have to talk later. When this war is over, I'll be billing their parents for all this food."


	8. Chapter 8

Remus Lupin stumbled as he landed and would have fallen but for a powerful hand gripping his shoulder and pulling him upright. Regaining his balance, he looked around, puzzled.

"I thought we were meeting everybody here."

Kingsley Shacklebolt pulled out an elaborate watch fob and studied it for a moment before nodding. "The others decided to go on ahead," he said, pointing down the street to the only place where the lights were on. Every other building was dark and shuttered, the occupants either hiding inside behind sturdy wards or gone, having fled.

"There's no more danger here."

"So the Order of the Phoenix has retaken Hogsmeade," said a snide voice. "The wizarding world can now breathe a collective sigh of relief."

Remus turned to see who was facing Kingsley. There were two men of medium height dressed in identical lime-green robes that identified them as Healers from St. Mungo's. At first glance, they resembled each other enough that they might be taken for brothers. But as Kingsley and Remus drew closer, Remus recognised the two men. They were nothing alike, starting with demeanour.

Kingsley beamed broadly. "Paracelsus. Thank you for coming. Augustus tells me you're especially talented at finding creative remedies for obscure sorts of spell damage. Remus, allow me to introduce..."

"Paracelsus Podmore. Augustus Pye." Remus acknowledged the two men. "I've gotten to know most of the Healers," he added ruefully.

"We have a few new students eager to meet you," said Augustus genially, shaking Remus' hand.

Ignoring the other wizards, Paracelsus appeared to be testing the air with his wand. "We needn't have used a Port-Key," he announced. "There's no sign of any anti-Apparition charm."

"The first ones to arrive removed that and a Caterwauling Charm before we arrived," said Kingsley. "Our Death Eater friends seem to have departed before any of the Order arrived here. The Port-Keys were a precaution, so we don't lose any more time."

The four men began to walk towards the lighted building that soon revealed itself to be the Hog's Head. As they drew closer to the pub, witches and wizards Apparated around them and hurried past. Kingsley held up a hand, and they stopped while he scanned the area with a Dark Detector, but after a moment he signalled for them to continue.

"I've heard congratulations are in order," said Augustus.

A crease formed between Remus' eyebrows. "Thank you," he said tonelessly. "Erm...I wouldn't mind some advice..."

"Your baby is fine," said Augustus promptly. "Lycanthropy is not transmitted genetically."

"Did you _not _look into this _before_ impregnating your wife?" asked Paracelsus sharply. Turning to his colleague, he said, "It's the wolf in him, see? It draws a veil across his judgement. The human worries, wonders and plans, but the animal can only watch and wait. And eat." He looked Remus over with a coldly clinical eye.

"Maybe his wife looked into it, Parry," said Augustus mildly.

"Did Dora talk to you?" asked Remus.

"Of course she did, Remus." The Healer patted the werewolf on his shoulder.

"Who _are_ all these people?" asked Paracelsus as people continued to appear around them.

"Yes, I was just thinking, last call in Hogsmeade is a lot later than I remember," quipped Augustus.

"Parents are coming to collect their children," said Kingsley. "The evacuation of Hogwarts has begun." They were now standing outside the Hog's Head, where all the activity seemed to be centred.

"Through a pub?" said Paracelsus, bewildered.

"Must be one of those secret passageways between Hogwarts and Hogsmeade," said Augustus. "Though you'd think the Death Eaters would have sealed those."

"They did," said Remus. "This passageway didn't exist until recently."

"Astonishing how it formed," said Kingsley. "Nobody knew before that the school's magic could reach this far beyond its physical boundaries."

Remus said, "My theory is that the blood ties between the owner of the Hog's Head and the previous Headmaster of Hogwarts helped create a magical sanctuary that enabled a connection between the two locations."

"You'd have made a great Unspeakable, Remus," said Kingsley, opening the door to the Hog's Head.

Inside the pub was a great tumult: parents hugging children, everybody tripping over all the luggage, the toads and rats underfoot hopping and scurrying to avoid being trampled while the owls swooped overhead, and entire families Disapparating with ear-splitting cracks, their departures strenuously encouraged by Aberforth.

"There you go...safe journey!" said the latter, sagging against the bar as a family of six vanished. He nodded wearily at the new arrivals. "They seem to be evacuating the whole of Slytherin House."

"Just a precaution," said Kingsley.

"Your precautions are benefiting the wrong people," said Aberforth, shouting over the din as he approached the four wizards. "Maybe in the course of the battle, a few hostages would turn the tide for us." He lead them to the other side of the bar and into a small, shabby kitchen and passed around baskets of bread and cheese and tankards of butterbeer before settling himself down on a stool with a sigh.

"Perhaps the evacuation of their children has contributed to ridding Hogsmeade of Death Eaters," countered Kingsley as he gratefully accepted a generous chunk of Wensleydale.

"What of those Slytherins who are of age? Perhaps they'd like the opportunity to stay and fight. Think of what those Slytherins would learn if they were allowed to protect their school and prove themselves above and beyond the obligations of family connections," said Aberforth.

Paracelsus snorted. "Like I told my brother Sturgis, before he got himself thrown into Azkaban for you lot, that's what the Order has in common with You-Know-Who. You ideologues are always twisting reality to suit yourselves, finding justifications for things that would be totally unacceptable to any sensible person."

"Ideologues?!" said Aberforth, his blue eyes widening in a mixture of anger and bemusement. "My brother was the ideologue of the family. Me, I'm a barman. What about you?"

Paracelsus glared at Aberforth. "As you can plainly see, I'm a Healer, and there will be casualties."

"Any casualties thus far?" asked Augustus.

Aberforth shook his head. "Some bumps and bruises, and a few with mild post-Cruciatus syndrome, but nothing requiring remedies beyond basic first aid."

"Eventually, you're going to need more than just two Healers," said Paracelsus. "We should have asked more..."

"Too risky," said Kingsley. "We couldn't risk the Death Eaters being tipped off."

"I couldn't be sure about any of the other Healers," said Augustus apologetically. "Parry here wears his politics on his sleeve."

"What politics?" snapped Paracelsus.

"Precisely," replied Augustus.

"Once the battle gets underway, you can send for more and set up an infirmary here, I dare say," said Remus.

"Thank you for the food, but we must get to the portal," said Kingsley, and along with Aberforth, he lead the group upstairs to the parlour, where a steady stream of Hogwarts students materialised through the portrait of a young girl.

"The flow of students may have abated slightly," said Aberforth.

Kingsley shook his head. "I doubt we can get through just yet," he said. "This is like the Quidditch World Cup."

A cluster of students headed down the stairs, revealing the presence of an old man directing them there. "This building is too small for you to stay here," he was saying. "He wants you to find your parents and leave."

"YOU!!" Aberforth furious, pointing. "YOU were told not to enter this room!!"

The old man sneered at Aberforth. "YOU said there was no way into the school!!"

"I'm not sending you to your death," snapped Aberforth. "Assuming you could even see the school, past all the anti-Muggle charms."

"I can see it if I know it's there, didn't you know? And it's _my_ decision to make!" snarled the old man.

"A Muggle knows he's called a Muggle? And wearing wizard robes," observed Remus, bemused.

"I borrowed them from Arthur Weasley," said the old man. "You people are trying to get into the school?"

"There is absolutely no way we can let you into the school, Tobias," said Kingsley firmly.

"Leave it to Arthur Weasley to befriend the Muggle," said Paracelsus derisively.

"Pleased to meet you, Tobias," said Augustus, shaking the old man's proffered hand. "Paracelsus and I--he's the other one dressed like me--aren't going to the school. Kingsley here thinks it's too dangerous for us, and at least we're wizards."

"There's no reason for you to go, anyway," said Aberforth. "The Deputy Headmistress contacted me to ask if the Death Eaters really were gone from my pub before she started sending large numbers of students here. And she was pleased to tell me that your son has fled, driven out by the teachers."

"Was he hurt?" asked Tobias.

"I don't think so. Apparently, your son knows how to fly. Difficult spell, that. Even my brother..."

"Your son?!" Remus was staring at Tobias.

"My son," said Tobias defiantly, "is Severus Snape."

There was a moment of silence broken only by sounds of scuffling as a backlog of students started to form behind those who had heard Tobias, and stood transfixed.

"Move along," snapped Aberforth at the students. "There's nothing to see here." To Tobias, he said, "You shouldn't have said that."

"You're mad," said Remus softly.

"So I've been told," said Tobias.

"You should have stayed with the Weasleys," said Kingsley.

"He was at the _Burrow?"_ asked Remus, astonished.

"We had to keep it discreet, Remus," said Kingsley apologetically.

"MOVE!" snarled Aberforth, raising his wand at some lingering students, and they fled down the stairs as if pursued by Fiendfyre.

Kingsley gazed into the painting. "Time to make our way, Remus."

Remus took a deep breath and nodded.

Aberforth said, "I may soon be following you." At everyone's sceptical looks, he snapped, "Did you think I would stay here polishing glasses while Death Eaters try and take Hogwarts?"

"Nothing for me to do now but wait," said Tobias despairingly. "If he's truly fled, no one could find him."

sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

Severus Snape landed in the Forbidden Forest and shook the bits of broken glass from his robes. Ducking around a large tree, he leaned against it, attempting to quell his outrage and steady his pounding heart. Of course it didn't matter what Minerva called him, or what any of them said--they had it all wrong. Still, it stung to be called a coward as much as ever it did. He reflected on the unfairness of it as he sucked on a cut on his knuckle, and felt near to tears.

At least physically, he was in better shape than last year, when it was as if Sirius Black reached out from beyond the grave to send his hippogriff after Severus, who arrived at Malfoy Manor bleeding badly from large gashes. Though thinking back on it, his injuries that day were fortuitous. As Narcissa fussed over him, healing his wounds and plying him with fortifying potions, he had time to get his emotional house in order before facing the Dark Lord.

There was a slight movement in the forest, and he withdrew his wand, peering into the pitch blackness.

"Potions Master," said the centaur, stepping almost soundlessly into view despite the forest litter underfoot.

"Magorian," replied Severus in cautious greeting, putting his wand away. He listened to the Forest, trying to ascertain if a multitude of unseen arrows were pointing at him, and gave up. If the centaurs wanted him, they would have him.

"Are you going to kill me?" asked Severus.

"You don't have your satchel with you, so tonight you are not gathering mushrooms and plants. And your hands are bleeding," observed the centaur. He looked up at the sky. "What do you see?"

Severus joined the centaur in looking up. "I see that whatever else happens tonight, at least we won't have transformed werewolves running all over the place."

Magorian shook his head. "Your kind look to the sky, but you never forget your feet are in mud." He gestured upwards expansively. "This month, the plane of the ecliptic and the plane of the galaxy will be in alignment. This happens only every 26,000 years." He looked at Severus. "I believe you told me you are a Capricorn. Yes? Your sign rules plants governed by Saturn, such as yew, barley, comfrey root, and tamarind."

"You forgot hemlock and the nightshade family," replied Severus. "Have the centaurs thought about what side you should join, should there be a battle?"

"What side is that? That witch, the one who called us half-breeds, is she on your side?"

"Dolores Umbridge is on her own side," replied Severus.

"That's what Dumbledore said when we agreed to turn her over to him. He said for humans, it's honourable to allow someone to live even though you disagree with them." The centaur looked at him piercingly. "Dumbledore asked you to..."

"Do not speak of it!" hissed Severus, peering about, not daring to take out his wand and cast a Silencing Charm or any others in the presence of the centaur.

Though if any Death Eaters were in the Forest yet, the centaur would be aware of their approach long before their human ears were close enough to hear anything incriminating.

"You honoured Dumbledore's request. But the other humans would drive you out, leaving you standing in our forest with bleeding hands. Whatever happens, we would defend our forest, but choose none of your human sides. Fortunately, the moon is not so bright tonight, so the galaxy can plainly be seen. Look up and imagine this planet and all the others in this solar system revolving around the sun in the same plane as the galaxy itself. The cosmic influence reverberates down to your most basic level of existence."

Severus said, "We are helpless, then, in the crushing grip of fate."

"Of course not. Humans can only see one way or the other, when in fact it is both." He turned his head and bared his teeth aggressively. "Someone is coming." And melted into the blackness.

Severus again peered fruitlessly into the Forest, but could hear or see nothing. After a couple of minutes, there was the sound of leaves crunching underfoot, and Narcissa appeared in the small clearing.

"Severus! What's...? Your hands are bleeding."

He held up his hands, and she applied Healing Charms to the numerous small cuts and scrapes. She was always thin and so white-blonde and fair as to appear almost translucent, but she'd lost weight, her expensive robes drooping from her shoulders like a half-empty sack. When her slender-boned hands touched his, they were slightly tremulous.

"They have driven you out again," she said, releasing his hands.

"When the Dark Lord prevails, I'll no longer have to flee the school like a hunted animal," he said.

"When the Dark Lord prevails..." She looked past him, as if trying to see through the forest to the school. Then she glanced over her shoulder and lowered her voice. "The others are on their way. But I have come on ahead to see if I can find Draco. Have you seen him?"

"The Dark Lord is on the cusp of victory, and all you can think of is yourself," said a sneering voice, and Narcissa stiffened.

"Bellatrix," said Severus, putting his wand away as Narcissa's sister emerged from the forest in a flurry of blasted leaves.

Narcissa looked from her sister to Severus. "I was just...I want to be sure Draco will do what he should." She looked at her feet.

"Well, too bad Snape's not there in case he loses his nerve," said Bellatrix. She looked Severus up and down and laughed. "Running away again? At least they didn't send a Hippogrif after you this time to gut you like a fish."

"Disappointed?" retorted Severus, but Bellatrix was already rounding on her sister.

"What were you thinking, creeping off on your own so close to the Dark Lord's most crucial hour? Not that he would need _you_ for anything." She broke into a broad, maniacal grin. "Just what _were_ you going to ask Snape before I happened along? If you bind Snape with another Unbreakable Vow, the Dark Lord will have you crucio'd to death."

"If you had a son, you would understand," snapped Narcissa.

"No, it's you who doesn't understand," said Bellatrix. "You and Lucius. You don't understand that the Dark Lord is bigger than family. Don't you see? When he defeats Harry Potter, he will bring wizard kind to its greatest glory such as it has never known. No more of this hiding in the shadows of the Muggle world--with the supremacy of his power and the brilliance of his mind, he can only..."

"So he has located Harry Potter, then?" said Severus, cutting across Bellatrix. At one time, he had regarded the Dark Lord with the same reverence, if not the same foam-flecked fanaticism, as Bellatrix. Whenever she started going on about the Dark Lord's glorious and magnificent excellence, it reminded Severus of the pride he felt when he brought the Dark Lord the prophecy, how he basked in the Dark Lord's praise, and gloated at the jealousy of the others; and his guts would twist with embarrassment, shame and remorse.

Bellatrix literally made Severus queasy.

She was shaking her head.

"He will not hunt for Harry Potter the way a house-elf hunts the market for his master's favourite foods. Instead, he has hatched a plan to make the boy come to him, and willingly, offering himself up as a sacrifice."

"To be on the safe side, he should dispatch someone to try and find the boy," said Severus. "I would be ideally suited for this task. I know the boy better than..."

"He would not want you doing that, Snape." Bellatrix' eyes glinted. "I'm sure he doesn't. I already offered."

"I taught the boy for six years. I know his tricks, and I think..."

"I already offered," repeated Bellatrix, her voice rising in incipient hysteria. "Maybe you know the boy, but no one is closer to the Dark Lord than..."

"What are you doing here?" a rough voice demanded.

Numerous Death Eaters began to appear in the forest, stepping out of the darkness, appearing as suddenly as if they'd Apparated.

A Death Eater was glaring at Severus. "You were supposed to be in the castle, lowering the defenses from the other side."

"They realized I was a traitor, and cast me out," said Severus, to scattered laughter, and some groans.

"The Dark Lord's going to be furious."

"The Dark Lord knew they would banish Snape before we attacked so that he wouldn't be able to help us get in," said Bellatrix, who narrowed her eyes at Severus. "Snape pointed this out to the Dark Lord. Snape overlooks nothing. He is much too excessively cautious about everything absolutely all the time."

"If I were sloppy and piecemeal about things, I'm sure Bellatrix would find me equally traitorous," said Severus, to more laughter.

Someone Severus couldn't see said, "Didn't you kill Dumbledore just to fool us into thinking you're on our side?"

Everyone laughed except Bellatrix and Narcissa, who grinned faintly, looking about hopelessly.

"I wouldn't put it past him," said Bellatrix, scowling.

"You have found me out," said Severus, gesturing expansively. "I killed Dumbledore out of loyalty to him and the Order of the Phoenix. Do me a favour, and don't mention it to the Dark Lord, will you?" He turned to Bellatrix. "You were saying?"

Bellatrix seemed to be struggling with herself. "The Dark Lord...appreciates...what you did. Regardless of the magical skill it took to push a feeble old man from a high place. But no matter what you do, you will always be a half-blood, and as such, the Dark Lord can never trust you as he would someone of nobler birth," said Bellatrix.

"Keep telling yourself that, if it helps," said Severus, and turned to walk away.

"I may actually look worse than you do, Severus," said a low voice from the other side of a tree.

Severus stepped around the tree to face his so-called friend. "A banner day," he replied, all snide insouciance.

"Walk with me," said Lucius Malfoy. And he did look terrible. One eye was swollen shut, his normally immaculate robes were dirty and dishevelled, and his skin was greyer than ever, making him look as if he needed a cauldronful of Blood-Restoring Potion.

Severus indicated one of the myriad winding paths criss-crossing the forest, and the two men strolled away from the others.

"You almost look upset," said Lucius.

"They drove me out," said Severus, his voice coloured by genuine outrage. "McGonagall threw knives at me, and Flitwick...but how about you? Encounter Arthur Weasley in a bookstore again?"

"Ha. Ha."

"To be honest, Lucius, I'm surprised the Dark Lord hasn't killed you yet," said Severus honestly.

Lucius glared, but said mildly, "He has other things on his mind. No one can contact the Carrows. Have you any idea where they are?"

"None." He nodded his head as if in sudden revelation. _"That's_ what emboldened the teachers. They must have already overpowered the Carrows. I was enquiring after them when the teachers attacked me."

The blonde wizard nodded absently. "Did you happen to see Draco about?" he asked with forced casualness, watching Severus closely with his undamaged eye.

Severus shook his head, and the older wizard's shoulders slumped. "I wouldn't worry," said Severus with some real sympathy. "If he's clever enough to sneak our people into the school, he's clever enough to look after himself." And conflicted enough to try and avoid duelling, he didn't say.

Lucius said, "The Dark Lord wants to see you."

Severus rubbed his eyes and yawned. The night was getting longer all the time. "Not that I haven't enjoyed our conversation, but why would he send you to fetch me? Why would he not summon me?" He gestured with his left arm.

Lucius rolled his undamaged eye. "Really, Severus, you are usually more clever about these things than I. You heard his warning. The battle has been joined. Most of our people have already departed from Hogsmeade, leaving our anti-Apparition and Caterwauling charms unattended--people have probably taken them down already. Unlike you, the Dark Lord has the forethought to think of these things, so he put an anti-Apparition charm around himself. I don't know how far he extended it, so needless to say, you'd best walk to Hogsmeade, where you will find him in the Shrieking Shack. Now if you will excuse me, I'm going to try and find my son." With surprising vigour for someone who looked so bedraggled, the blond wizard strode off towards the castle.

Severus sighed. It had to be the Shrieking Shack...

After one last check of his composure, Severus began to walk towards Hogsmeade, chiding himself to walk faster, quelling a sense of foreboding. Up on its hill, the Shrieking Shack was, strategically, a sensible spot to have a base if launching an offensive from the Hogsmeade area. The Dark Lord likely wanted to speak with Severus about his role in the upcoming battle now that Severus was ousted.

Nothing else made sense.

Unless it related to information Dumbledore had not shared with him.

ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

Students continued to arrive and depart from the pub for a while, and Augustus and Paracelsus occupied themselves with directing them downstairs from the parlour and tending to a few minor injuries while Tobias wandered about Hogsmeade's main street, returning every few minutes to ask the wizards if they'd heard anything.

"You understand your son no longer communicates with the Order," said Augustus, as the three men walked downstairs from the parlour to sit at a table in the pub.

"Sensible of him, if you ask me," said Paracelsus. "Oh! Hello!"

Augustus smiled at the new arrivals. "Hello, Ms. Tonks. Miss Weasley."

"Wotcher, Healer Pye," said Tonks as she entered with Ginny Weasley, followed close behind by Augusta Longbottom. "Where's Aberforth? We need to use that passageway to Hogwarts."

"He went through the portal himself after You-Know-Who made that rousing speech," said Paracelsus. "Hello, Mrs Longbottom."

"The most honest Healer at St. Mungo's," said Augusta Longbottom, nodding a greeting at Paracelsus.

"Parry, this is Remus Lupin's wife, Dora Tonks," said Augustus, gesturing to Tonks.

"How do you do, Mrs Lupin?" said Paracelsus formally, bowing slightly.

"It's 'Ms Tonks,'" she retorted, distracted, looking about the room. "Where's the..._there's_ the stairs. The portal is this way, right?"

"One of those modern witches, then," said Paracelsus, bemused.

"Yes, I'm afraid so. Much as I'd like to stay here and chat about feminist theory, I've a husband to find." Halfway up the stairs, she paused. "Ginny? Mrs Longbottom?"

Ginny and Mrs Longbottom were staring at Tobias, who had followed the Healers downstairs from the parlour, and was now leaning against the bar looking fidgety and miserable.

"I've a head for faces," said Mrs Longbottom. "We've met before, a couple of times here in this pub, years ago, when your son was a student at Hogwarts...it _is _a son, isn't it? Yes, it is. He was a few years behind my Frank." She looked Tobias up and down. "I'm afraid I forget your name. Your clothing has me confused. Are Muggles wearing wizard robes now?"

"Are you mental, Toby?" said Ginny. "I can't _believe_ you're here..._and _my dad loaned you his robes. Did he know you were trying to do this?"

"Toby...Tobias..." Mrs Longbottom roared with laughter. "You're Severus Snape's father." As suddenly as she laughed, she grew stern. "Surely you don't intend to go to the school?"

"There's no reason to, now that my son has fled," said Tobias dolefully.

"Mr Snape," said Tonks. "May I have a word? Come with me upstairs."

"If anyone can talk sense into him, it's Dora," said Mrs Longbottom approvingly.

"What could she be saying to him?" said Ginny, baffled.

A scant minute later, Tonks reappeared at the top of the stairs. "Ginny? Mrs Longbottom? Are you with me?"

Tobias started descending the staircase, slipping past the two witches going up to join Tonks.

"I'm going to seal the portal after we pass through it," said Mrs Longbottom. "Since Aberforth is no longer here, it's for the best. And when we leave Hogwarts, it will be through the front gate," she added hopefully.

"All right there, Tobias?" said Augustus.

The old man looked away from Augustus. "I'm...going out again. Just in case."

"In case of what?" said Paracelsus.

Tobias didn't reply, just smiling as he closed the door behind him.

Augustus gazed after him. "He almost seemed happy," he said. "Whatever Dora told him, it deepened his state of pathological denial. What do you think? In a case like this, perhaps an extensive course of selective Obliviation is the most compassionate..."

"We don't know everything," said Paracelsus.

"What do you mean? You think Severus Snape might be innocent?" said Augustus.

"I think that people get caught up in the general opinions, and they forget to use their own judgement. Remember when I ran into Albus Dumbledore at the Ministry a few months before he died?"

"When he hid his burnt hand from you," said Augustus, nodding. "The extent to which he trusted the healing abilities of the Hogwarts matron was one of his peculiarities."

"That was no ordinary burn," declared Paracelsus.

"As you kept saying, Parry."

"I'm the man who would treat such a dark curse. Unless...unless it was something beyond treatment."

"Snape the mercy-killer?" said Augustus sceptically. "Don't you have to be a merciful person for that?"

"Let me put it this way," said Paracelsus. "Those of you in the Order of the Phoenix believed in the judgement of Albus Dumbledore more than anybody. And in turn he trusted Snape implicitly. So how is it, when Snape kills Dumbledore, you all throw up your hands saying, 'Oh well; Dumbledore was wrong about Snape.'"

"Albus Dumbledore was brilliant, but at the end of the day, he was as human as any of us," said Augustus. "He had his blind spots."

"Don't you think his being wrong about Snape is rather more than just a blind spot?'"

"It cost him his life, didn't it?" retorted Augustus.

"Snape was a Death Eater," said Paracelsus. "Don't you think the burden of proof would be rather heavy on him? Everybody says, 'Dumbledore liked to see the best in people.' This is not a simple oversight you're attributing to him, but a massive lapse in judgement that flies in the face of everything that's been known about him for over a hundred years."

Exasperated, Augustus replied, "Parry, what you're saying doesn't make any sense."

"What I'm saying is logical. And surely even the ridiculous can be true if that's all there is left."

They looked up as the front door slammed and Tobias rushed in, his short, grey hair disheveled, dark eyes wide. "Did you hear that?"

"What?" said both Healers together.

"I was about to let the cat back in...there was a scream." He frowned. "It was a man...a man who screamed inside that old building up on the hill. It sounded like..." He gasped and ran back out the door.

Augustus looked at Paracelsus. "Could be our first casualty, Parry." His colleague nodded in agreement, and the Healers hastily spelled their supplies into the satchels and chased after Tobias, easily finding him in the abandoned streets of Hogsmeade.

When they reached Tobias, he pointed with a trembling finger. "From there! It...it was my son's voice!"

They looked where he pointed, and Augustus said gently, "You understand we call that building the Shrieking Shack?"

Paracelsus said, "But Augustus, the Shrieking Shack has stood silent for about twenty years."

"It was my son's voice!" repeated Tobias, and began to run, but turned back after a few paces. "You're doctors--he may be injured! You must come with me. Please!!"

With some grumbling from Paracelsus at being called a doctor, they followed Tobias.

Augustus said, "Surely Snape would have fled further away than just Hogsmeade."

"Only if fleeing was all he had in mind," replied Paracelsus, and called to Tobias, "Wait!"

They had reached the base of the hill upon which the Shrieking Shack stood.

"My son..."

Paracelsus waved his wand up the slope at the building. "If your son is in there, and he's injured, we may not be able to help him if we just rush in without checking for possible dangers. THIS," he spoke sharply as Tobias started to protest, 'this, is a Dark Detector. Standard equipment for _Healers_ in the field." He held it aloft. "And it says...all is clear." Putting the Detector away, he stepped forward to lead the trio, but Tobias ran around him and up the hill.

The Healers increased their pace and arrived to find Tobias, face red with exertion, gasping for breath and hurling himself against the front door.

Augustus pointed his wand at Tobias. "That wasn't wise," he said. "You aren't young, and you have moderate coronary artery disease."

Leaning against the door, Tobias struggled to catch his breath. "Please!" he pleaded. "Help!"

Augustus gestured Tobias away from the door and grasped the doorknob. "See the hinges? That means the door opens this way." And he pulled it open.

"Strange," muttered Paracelsus as they entered.

There was a brief search in the small building, and Tobias was bending over a black clad figure on the floor and kneeling in an enormous pool of blood and cradling his son's head. It lolled to one side, revealing ghastly oozing wounds between jaw and collarbone.

"My poor boy...what did this?"

Augustus vanished most of the blood from the floor and knelt beside Tobias, putting his arm around him. "I've seen these sort of wounds before. Looks like You-Know-Who's snake did it."

"Too late...too late," Tobias sobbed while Augustus held him.

"We'll be the judge of that," retorted Paracelsus, and he raised his wand.

sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

Author Note:

The rare astronomical phenomenon that Magorian speaks of really did occur in May of 1998, when the plane of the ecliptic (that is, the plane upon which the earth and all the other planets in our solar system revolves around the sun) moved into alignment with the plane of the galaxy.


	9. Chapter 9

As the sight of those green eyes faded, so did the pain in his neck. There was a sensation as if he were falling backwards in minimal gravity, dropping slowly until he found himself lying supine on a smooth, even, clean wooden floor free of splinters.

He sat up and discovered why he was so aware of the floor's texture: he was naked, but not uncomfortably so; the room was warmer than ever he had remembered, and he felt a lack of self-consciousness that he had never known. Still, it was disconcerting, facing the afterlife without a stitch on, and as this thought formed, a set of robes materialised on the nearby couch, and he stood and put them on before turning his attention to the problem of what he was to do next. Should he wait here, or was he supposed to leave?

He looked around the sitting room of the house at Spinner's End, and observed with almost clinical detachment that it was an idealised version of the real thing. Distracted by the ongoing melodrama of their marriage, his parents never maintained the place besides only the most essential housekeeping and repairs. After his father gave him the place, he added anti-Muggle spells and moved some of his books here, but otherwise let things be, casting a few desultory cleaning and tidying spells when it started approaching bachelor grottiness. When Peter Pettigrew lived with him, the state of the place was no better. He was able to bully Wormtail into doing a few things, but the rat executed all tasks with such extreme passive-aggressiveness that Severus might as well have not bothered.

In real life, his books were never so dust-free, or lined up so perfectly, and the couch was in better repair than he had ever seen. Those areas of the wall not covered by bookshelves were free of nicotine stains, small holes, and blotches of mildew. As far as he could see, the kitchen was equally pristine, the floor free of sticky patches, the taps gleaming.

Despite the improvements, it was no place to spend all of eternity. He started for the door, pausing, startled, to look at his feet - he didn't remember putting boots on - when a voice said, "Wait!"

He turned to face the person who had just come through the door leading from the hidden staircase, and said, "Now that we're both dead, I presume I don't take orders from you any more."

To his surprise, and despite his intentions, his voice was not at all snide. It was as if unpleasant emotions had been stripped away, leaving only distant memories of unpleasant feelings.

Being dead had a certain serenity.

Albus Dumbledore stepped through the doorway and closed the door so that it vanished behind a wall of perfectly-aligned books on immaculate shelves. "I am here with some information for you," he said.

"We have all of eternity before us. Will that be enough time for you to tell me everything?" Again, Severus was bemused at his own lack of rancour.

Dumbledore shook his silver-maned head. "You will learn that all in good time. First of all, you succeeded. By now, Harry Potter knows the truth about you. And about me, for that matter."

"So he knows he has to die," said Severus, not surprised by his own equanimity this time; after all, he was dead, and being dead wasn't so bad.

The old man's blue eyes twinkled as they hardly did the last six months of his life. "If things go the way I anticipate, he will not die any more than..."

"So he doesn't have to die, but I did?" Severus really tried this time, but failed to sound outraged.

"I did not anticipate this, Severus. But now I realise that this was your only path, for only by dying are you exonerated."

"So this way, I'm saved from Azkaban?" asked Severus.

"That's not what I meant," said Dumbledore, looking away as he often did when he wanted to keep something from Severus. "I mean, if you had been unharmed when you and Harry encountered each other, you would have been more selective in your choice of memories you would disclose to him. His hatred of you was an enormous prejudice to overcome. If you had not made a full disclosure, too much doubt would have been left in his mind."

Severus nodded. "I see. My exoneration was necessary for the task at hand. I agree. I would have told him whatever was necessary, however embarrassing it would be for me. I could compel myself to show him whatever memories I had to. I never required the motivation of a mortal wound to complete those unpleasant tasks you have set for me, as you well know, Dumbledore."

"Well, there were those Occlumency lessons."

"That's different. I was getting nowhere, and putting myself in danger."

"A mortal wound focuses the consciousness, don't you agree?"

Severus pondered what Dumbledore was saying. It was so much easier to think without extreme emotions cluttering his consciousness. "Probably you're right," he said. "Do you think I'll get a posthumous Order of Merlin?"

Dumbledore smiled enigmatically.

Severus shrugged. "Not that it matters." He looked around again. "What is this place? I doubt it's anybody's idea of heaven, but I have to say, after the snake bit me, I thought I would soon would see the jaws of hell open wide beneath me. Though I'm equally grateful there aren't people going about with wings on, plucking at harps."

"Sorry, Severus. The rules around disclosure are particularly stringent."

For the first time since he came to this place, Severus felt a twinge of something approaching real annoyance. "What are you on about? I'm dead, see? As you know, I have some knowledge of healing. I examined the wound thoroughly." He demonstrated, placing his fingers to his throat in a gesture that could be mistaken for merely attempting to staunch the flow of blood, and was unsurprised to find his afterlife throat undamaged, the skin beneath his jaw smooth. "My jugular veins were ripped wide open on that side. I had to use magic to keep myself conscious for as long as I did, and I bled to death within a few minutes. I'm not only just merely dead, I'm really most sincerely dead. No magic can save me."

"Did I say anything about magic saving you, Severus? And did you really think you were hell-bound? Your dying not only exonerates you, it also repairs any damage suffered by your soul when you cast that killing curse." Dumbledore smiled warmly and removed a watch from his pocket. "I'm afraid we don't have any more time, Severus. Before we part, let me say thank you. For everything."

"You're...you're welcome." Not knowing what else to do, Severus bowed slightly, and stepped towards the door. But it was as if Dumbledore Apparated, he was blocking the way so fast.

"You don't leave the house," said Dumbledore. "Instead, you go upstairs." He gestured at the wall containing the hidden staircase, which revealed itself.

Severus gave an approving nod. "Up is better, I dare say." He reversed his course to climb the stairs.

As he reached the top, all the strength went out of his legs, and suddenly he was horizontal, on his back. Again, he was naked, but not comfortably so this time. The room was cold, the pain in his neck was excruciating and nearly matched by the pain in his head, and there was a bright light shining down on him such that when he opened his eyes, daggers of brightness seemed to pierce down to his very newly-repaired soul.

Several Healers and Mediwitches were peering down at him, eyes bright with interest.

"Welcome back, Professor."

sssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

"But even with the patient's full and informed consent, I was almost sacked the last time I used Muggle healing techniques," protested Healer Augustus Pye. "And more importantly, they didn't work."

"You were nowhere nearly as close to being sacked as Molly Weasley might have liked," said Healer Paracelsus Podmore wryly.

The two Healers were standing next to the patient in the Nastily Critical Room of the Dai Llewellyn Ward at St. Mungo's. After Paracelsus had applied the Stasis Charm to Severus on the floor of the Shrieking Shack, freezing him in time, they'd transported him and Tobias by PortKey to this room. Mediwitches spelled off Severus' clothes and moved him to a trolley and sent Tobias Snape to a waiting room nearby, where he could be heard grumbling at a Potions Registrar who was trying to ply him with the Draught of Peace.

Augustus was nervously bouncing and catching the Portkey, a red, blue and white striped rubber ball. "Do we know if he would want this?" he asked. "Think of those purebloods who would rather die than be subjected to Muggle healing techniques."

"Give me that. It's very annoying." Paracelsus accio'd the rubber ball and shoved it into a pocket. "Your attitude puzzles me, Augustus. You would let a young man die because a patient's wife tore a strip off you two years ago? Was your former open-mindedness so fragile? And why this talk of purebloods while the patient's Muggle father sits in the next room?"

Augustus folded his arms. "Parry, you know I've read extensively on Muggle medicine, as they call their healing, and I agree we can learn a few things from them, but I've discovered that their basic philosophy is completely wrong. They've taken Hippocrates' 'First, do no harm,' and extrapolated it to, 'Prevent death at all costs.' They don't realise that death is a natural part of life, instead thinking it's something monstrous to be avoided at all costs. So they reanimate corpses." He shuddered. "They have wards full of people on 'life support,' as they call it, who are no more sentient than Inferi."

Paracelsus rolled his eyes. "Surely you know from all your research that plenty of people are revived, and continue to live their lives as before, perhaps with only minor restrictions?"

Augustus gestured at Severus. "What are _this_ patient's chances? When his heart stopped, he immediately went into catastrophic metabolic and respiratory acidosis..."

"I am acquainted with basic physiology."

"...and we don't know how long his brain was without oxygen. I don't think I'm overstepping to say that any wizard, including ones with Muggle dads, would prefer to die an honest death than have his body manipulated into going through the motions of being alive, but really being no more than some...half-alive...thing."

Paracelsus nodded. "I agree. But I scanned him before I cast the Stasis spell, and significant cellular death had not yet occurred, suggesting to me his heart had been stopped for mere minutes."

Augustus looked thoughtful. "I have to say, Parry, when I first started researching Muggle medicine, I was excited as you are at the prospect of having this technique in a Healer's arsenal." He bent to look at Severus' neck wound. "You are absolutely certain he was only dead a few minutes?"

"He's an excellent candidate for Muggle resuscitation." Paracelsus picked up a tube-shaped container from a tray hovering nearby. "You mentioned the acidosis subsequent to cardiac arrest. For that, the Muggles use bicarbonate of soda."

Augustus' eyes widened. "If you stab him with that needle, he'll have one more place to bleed from. You Know Who's snake's venom is the most powerful anticoagulant I've ever seen."

Paracelsus snorted. "Of course I'm not going to stab him with the needle, Augustus."

Augustus picked up another, larger tube-shaped container from the tray. "This is a cardiac needle, isn't it?"

"Again, Healer Pye, we're using the medicine _inside _the container, and naturally we'll put it into his body using magical means. Nothing compels us to use any needles."

Augustus turned the cardiac needle over in his hands. "Imagine stabbing a person in the heart on purpose, in order to save their life."

"They're very inefficient, these Muggle needles. Sometimes they miss the intended vein, or go right through it and out the other side."

"Yes; I remember reading about attempts to hit the subclavian vein, and they puncture a lung instead..." Augustus stopped speaking as a doorway materialised on the wall opposite to the door, and a handful of Healers and Mediwitches filed into the room.

"Professor Snape!" a Mediwitch gasped.

"Good choice, Parry," another Healer said. "If we're going to be doing something experimental, better our first subject is a Death Eater rather than someone anybody cares about."

The man's self-satisfied smile disappeared as he found himself under the spotlight of Paracelsus' withering glare.

With barely-controlled fury, Paracelsus said, "Other than the basic fact of his being a human being, this man was selected solely on the basis of his suitability for this procedure. Healer Pye and I were fortunate to encounter him soon after he received his injury. As Healers, the duty of care we owe to all our patients must not be corrupted by personal prejudice or else we are abusing the power we possess by virtue of the knowledge and skills we have." He looked around the room. "If any of you want to judge this man, I suggest you resign your position, and go get a job at the Wizangamot."

They all met his gaze except for the one Paracelsus addressed, who looked at his feet. Then he raised his chin and said defiantly, "We may save him, only to hand him over to the Dementors."

Augustus said, "If the Ministry makes such monstrous decisions as allowing Unforgivables to be used in interrogations, or employing Dementors in their Correctional Services division, we can't involve ourselves in any way, or second-guess what they may do next."

"Nicely said, Healer Pye."

"Healer Podmore, you didn't tell me you were assembling a team."

"You haven't exactly been keeping your misgivings about Muggle medicine a secret."

"No apologies needed, Healer Podmore."

"But I value your participation, Healer Pye. You're the closest thing we have to an expert on the bites of this snake."

Augustus gestured to the tray of Muggle medicines. "How does all of this work?"

Paracelsus motioned for one of his team to step forwards. "Healer Chang?"

The young woman said, "We've memorised an algorithm, or series of steps that Muggles have devised, using various of their 'drugs' and procedures to revive the asystolic individual. Healer Podmore, if he's bled out through that wound, I would recommend, after we heal the wound, that we place a loading dose of Blood-Replenishing Potion directly into his left ventricle immediately before we restart his heart."

"No," said Augustus.

Everyone looked at him.

"I mean yes; that sounds sensible. I meant, no, the wound is more complicated than that. The snake's venom contains a powerful cytolytic agent that will cause the wound to reopen. The patient's resuscitation protocol must include the antidote, or our efforts would be for naught."

"Do we have the anti venom?"

Augustus pointed his wand at the tray. A flask materialised in the midst of the Muggle medicines. "We've kept it in stock ever since Arthur Weasley was bitten, just in case."

"Prudent. Do you know how much he will require?"

"Hard to say. The snake administered a very large volume of poison to Mr Weasley, but even if we assume it attempted the same with this patient, the very lethality of the wound may, paradoxically, result in a better prognosis."

"Whatever do you mean, Healer Pye?"

"At first it was a matter of the blood loss." He gestured at Severus' neck. "As the snake's fangs penetrated his jugular, the ensuing blood flow would have washed a great deal of the venom right out of his body. For all we know, most of the dose of venom ended up on the floor. Then the patient's heart stopped, so whatever venom remained in his veins was no longer being systemically distributed."

Paracelsus raised his wand. "Healer Pye, I suggest you add what you believe to be the most appropriate dose of the antidote to the patient's left ventricle at the same time as Healer Chang adds the Blood-Replenishing Potion. Everybody ready?"

_"Finite Incantatum."_

ssssssssssssssssssssssss

Augustus peered at Severus' neck. "It's holding for the moment, but he's used up our entire supply of the antidote." He straightened, wincing, and put hands on hips to stretch his back.

Paracelsus bent to look directly in Severus' face. "Don't try to move your head or speak. If you can understand me, blink your eyes twice."

Two inky black eyes closed twice, then screwed tightly shut when most of the room burst into loud cheers.

Paracelsus smiled at everyone. "Well done."

"Raises your respect for Muggles, doesn't it?" a Mediwitch enthused. "Doing all of that _without magic,_ using those needles to put their potions into their patients - and no way to cancel your mistakes. Must be nerve-wracking."

The floor around the trolley where Severus lay was littered with the wreckage of packaging that had been hastily ripped apart, and discarded flasks, some of which were broken. On the side of Severus' neck wound, blood had splashed on the trolley beside his head and on the floor.

Severus opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling. The memories of his last moments in the Shrieking Shack were remarkably intact. When the snake bit him, the pain was magnified by the knowledge that everything he had ever done, or ever was, or ever could have been, had come to this. He had failed and now Harry Potter would be defeated.

And then a miracle - Potter appeared! He had struggled to keep himself conscious long enough to pour out every memory he could recall that might be pertinent to convincing Potter.

What memories _were_ they? Severus sifted through his recollections from immediately before heÕd lost consciousness and found that they were complete. He'd not held back from telling Potter everything a dying man wouldn't mind divulging. But now that he wasn't dead, the taste of bitter regret was starting to rise in his very sore throat like a bad potion.

Feeling sick with dread and potential humiliation; helpless and in pain, Severus now knew for certain that he was back in the world.

Augustus had walked to the other side of the room and now returned, wand in hand, vanishing the clutter on the floor to approach Severus. "I've sent word to the apothecary that we'll require more of the antidote."

"Will we?"

"The venom in his circulatory system has all been neutralized, but I'm thinking some traces remain in his tissues. Our experience with Arthur Weasley suggests this patient will require multiple doses before his wounds will stay healed." Augustus vanished blood-soaked bandages and gently placed fresh gauze beside Severus' neck.

A parchment scroll appeared in mid-air beside the trolley near Paracelsus, and it unfurled for him to read.

"Casualties are arriving from Hogwarts," he announced, looking about the room. "Healer Pye and I will stay here with the patient for the time being. The rest of you should go."

"I imagine Healer Smethwyck will be conducting a neurological examination of the patient," said Healer Chang. "I should like to sit in on that, if possible."

Paracelsus nodded, and the team filed out through the hall door.

"Neurologically speaking, the snake's venom wouldn't have affected him much," remarked Augustus as the door closed on the last of the others. "It's brutally cytotoxic, but there's hardly any neurotoxins in it at all, unlike many snake venoms. It's made to cause pain and damage, but not paralyse potential prey."

"You-Know-Who's snake would have no need for that," said Paracelsus.

Augustus was moving his wand in intricate loops and spirals above Severus' neck. "Yes...I was afraid of that."

_"Afraid of what?"_ Severus tried to say, but he could make no sound. Oh, this was getting better and better. He tried to turn his head towards the Healer, but bolts of pain shot from the top of his head to below his collarbone. So he tried to steady his head, but that didn't work, either; he couldn't prevent his head from lolling to that side, and Merlin! it fucking hurt, like he was halfway decapitated. Then there was a nudge below his chin, and his head was being supported while the pain trickled away like a stream of cool water, and then he was numb from his eyes to the middle of his chest.

"Augustus? What happened there?"

They were both looking down at the wooden brace Augustus had conjured that immobilized Severus' neck from below his chin to his shoulders. It was open on the side to allow access to the wounded area.

"He tried to turn his head." Augustus was fiddling with the brace, making minor adjustments.

"I told you not to do that, didn't I, Mr Snape?"

"It caused him a great deal of pain. His BP shot up, and his resp rate increased. So that's why I administered the Anaesthetic Charm," said Augustus.

"No muscle strength? I thought you said the snake's venom had no neurotoxic components...oh, you mean..."

"Yes. Lots of muscle damage. When his heart stopped, whatever venom that didn't get washed away in the flow of blood was concentrated in this area instead of being circulated through his body."

"Which was good for the rest of him, I dare say," said Paracelsus. "You can't talk, can you, Mr Snape?"

_"Obviously," _thought Severus.

Augustus continued to perform diagnostic charms. "Almost a third of his sternocleidomastoid requires regeneration. That's the big muscle on the side of your neck, Mr. Snape. You'll require this brace until that process is complete, I'm afraid. And let's see...the blood vessels have been successfully healed and are holding firm. The thyroid...not badly off, but the parathyroid is. Best keep an eye on your calcium levels. And there's that...there, I just healed that...now let's have a look at your larynx." Augustus straightened. "The damage to his larynx is not substantial. It won't take much regeneration to have him back in full voice." He pointed his wand at the floating tray. Several flasks of potions appeared there.

Paracelsus looked at the potions. "Do we want to start regenerating if we don't have more antidote yet?"

"We can get an idea of how much venom is still in him by how well things stay regenerated. I don't think there's much..."

There was banging on the door. "What's going on in there?" shouted the muffled voice of Tobias.

"I'll talk to him, Parry," said Augustus, setting down a potion flask.

"Don't let him in here yet."

"I wasn't going to, Parry." Casting a mild shield charm of the sort employed by Healers to keep distraught family members from bursting into a room, Augustus left.

Paracelsus aimed his wand at a flask of potion and then at Severus' midsection. The oily green liquid inside the flask disappeared.

Soon, beads of sweat appeared on Severus' brow. Paracelsus frowned. "That potion shouldn't make you so queasy." He bent over Severus. "Ah, there's the problem. You have several small stress ulcers in your stomach. I'll just heal those...there. And I'll include an _H. pylori _eradication protocol in your potions - let's just note that in your chart." He pointed his wand at a clipboard holding a role of parchment on the wall. "You may have noticed problems keeping food down. Explains why you're about twenty percent underweight. When you can eat again, you'll be having the high calorie diet - yes, you will, glare all you want. I think you're ready for the next potion." He aimed his wand at another flask, this one holding a magenta liquid containing bobbing lime green globules, and vanished it into Severus.

"You're fortunate you didn't have to taste that one," said Paracelsus, and Severus mentally nodded in agreement, the air heavy with the smell of distilled flobberworm slime.

"We have to wait a bit before the next one." Paracelsus conjured a tall wooden stool and sat. "Do you remember me? I was here when they brought in Auror Moody."

Severus rolled his eyes as far to the side as he could, but otherwise couldn't move. Paracelsus moved the stool closer and smiled into Severus' face. "See me now?" He smiled more widely.

Unable to do anything else, Severus reflected on that day, years ago, when Dumbledore rescued him from a Ministry holding cell on the condition that he administer the counter-spell to the curse he'd aimed at Auror Moody's eye. He couldn't remember any of the Healers in the room; just all those Aurors, their expressions murderous, pointing their wands at him while he held his own wand over Moody's bleeding ruin of a face, his hands shaking so badly from post-Cruciatus syndrome, he could barely hold his wand. From the corner of his eye, he could see Dumbledore unstopper a bottle of potion and gesture for him to accept it, but then someone in lime green robes aimed a spell from behind the phalanx of Aurors, and his hands steadied. He did what he could for Moody, but too much time had elapsed; he could only halt the bleeding and heal what was left, and then the Aurors were closing in on him and Dumbledore was rushing him from the room and then to Hogsmeade in a side-along Apparition that was memorably painful.

"What made the Aurors particularly furious," Paracelsus continued, "was that they couldn't press any charges against you. Before they allowed Dumbledore to fetch you, he told them that the legality of using Unforgivables in interrogations was provisional at best, but the right of a wizard to defend himself against an Unforgivable was unassailable. They could bring it before the Wizangamot, but their hands would be tied. Are you ready for another potion? Yes, you are. This one's not a potion really, but a hyper alimentation solution for those wizards who starve themselves because they think they're too busy and important to eat properly." He vanished a flask's contents, a white liquid thicker than milk, into Severus before settling back on the tall stool.

"I have to say, in all my years as a Healer, what you did to Auror Moody was the worst injury I've seen deliberately inflicted by somebody who isn't evil - no, I don't think you are. Not that it matters one way or the other, but over the years we've had a number of trainee Healers who were your students, and all of them had a solid grounding in Potions. Some expressed doubts about you; yes, even some of your more talented students. So I'd say, if he's working for You-Know-Who, why would he bother teaching them properly? Even if they were Muggle-born, or half-blooded. I didn't know you were a half-blood, of course. I have to say, a half-blood, joining a pure-blood wizarding cult - that's not very rational, is it? This last flask of potion is best taken with food, so now is the right time." He raised his wand just as Augustus came rushing into the room, closely followed by Tobias.

"Parry, they can't spare us - many casualties are coming in."

Tobias rushed to his son's bedside. "Severus! Thank God!"

"Don't touch him!" said both healers at once.

"Just because I'm a Muggle doesn't mean I'm stupid," retorted Tobias, bending to look at Severus' neck. "Now that it's cleaned up, it doesn't look so bad."

"Healer Podmore has administered an initial round of healing potions," said Augustus. "But there's still a lot of damage you can't see. He'll be with us for a while, I'm afraid."

"Augustus, we can't leave him here by himself," said Paracelsus.

"You've got him stabilised for the moment." Augustus was examining Severus with diagnostic spells. "We need all our people. We can't spare a single Mediwitch." Augustus conjured a brass bell with a wooden handle and thrust it into Tobias' hands. "Stay with your son. If he takes a turn for the worse, especially if there's any bleeding, ring this bell, and whichever one of us is closer will hear it, wherever we are."

Tobias bent over Severus. "How are you feeling, son? Are you in pain?"

Paracelsus paused on his way out the door. "He's unable to speak. Unfortunately, that's a temporary situation." Flashing a smile that Severus barely saw, Paracelsus left.

Tobias sat on the stool Paracelsus had conjured. "The nurses explained it - you were bitten by Voldemort's snake. So he must have discovered your treachery." He nodded to himself before continuing. "It's a dad's instinct. I know you don't have it in you to be evil, son. But you fooled a lot of people, who couldn't tell the difference between being bad, and being bad-tempered. At least it isn't just me coming to your defence. That pink-haired woman will vouch for you; she as good as said so. But what I'd like to know is, did you fight back? How has this past year been for you? What _really_ happened with Dumbledore? What..."

As Tobias continued to pour out everything he'd wanted to ask Severus for the past year, Severus closed his eyes and thought of his own questions. How did they save his life? That Healer seemed awfully pleased with himself. Obviously, he was looking to cover himself with glory at Severus' expense. He wouldn't have been so cheeky about treating the same wizard who mutilated Mad-Eye Moody if Severus had been able to speak or hold his wand.

And how dare they save his life? Between his co-workers hating him with homicidal ferocity and his constant fear of discovery, the past year had been a relentless onslaught of stress. Being dead was the best rest he'd gotten in the past fourteen months.

And if the Machiavellian old goat had got it wrong, and the Dark Lord ended up winning, he'd just kill Severus all over again.

What was happening at Hogwarts?

He opened his eyes.

"You're awake! Do you still have the house at Spinner's End? Your neck is bruising badly. Should I summon the doctor?"

Severus closed his eyes again. He thought of the memories he'd given to Harry Potter, but his emotions were as numb as his neck. Moments later, he sank into a thankfully dreamless sleep.

sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

Harry Potter slept better than he thought possible, and returned to the Headmaster's office in the afternoon for one more task before leaving the school.

Someone had roughly repaired the gargoyle and replaced it in its niche. It snapped to attention as Harry approached.

"Is the password still, 'Dumbledore?'" Harry asked.

"This school has no barriers against _you_, Harry Potter," said the gargoyle, stepping aside.

As he expected, Minerva McGonagall was there, looking poised and showing no signs of the previous day's events other than circles under her eyes and a small scratch on one cheek.

"Mr Potter...Harry." She smiled warmly. "Professor Dumbledore explained to me what he made you do." She turned her head to aim her voice over her shoulder. "I'd kill him myself if he wasn't already dead."

Dumbledore's portrait was looking appropriately penitent.

Professor McGonagall looked Harry up and down. "Considering you've been murdered by Voldemort in the past twenty-four hours, I'd order you to the hospital wing, but they're filled to the rafters. Have a biscuit." She held out a tin of shortbreads in the shape of thistles.

Harry accepted a biscuit. "I've come for Professor Snape's memories," he explained. "I'm sure he'd want them buried with him."

She frowned. "That's very thoughtful of you, Harry, but we may need those memories to redeem Sev...Professor Snape."

Harry said, "Hermione said that Pensieve memories aren't permitted as court testimony because they can be tampered with. And Dumbledore's portrait can tell everybody what happened."

"I'm afraid my testimony isn't any good either, Harry," said Dumbledore's portrait. "Some would say Severus had the entire year to subvert me."

"And others would say you had your entire life to subvert yourself," snapped Professor McGonagall. "Who said anything about a courtroom? Dead men aren't put on trial. It's in the court of public opinion, and eventually the historical record that Severus' sacrifice needs to be recognised."

There was a banging on the office door. "Harry! Harry, are you there?" Hermione burst into the room, out of breath, face flushed.

"He isn't there!"

"Who isn't...you mean, _Snape?_"

"I went to the Shrieking Shack to fetch his body, but it was gone!" she gasped.

Ron appeared behind Harry. "You know what was really weird? There was no blood on the floor!" He turned to Hermione. "Are you sure we were in the right room?"

Hermione turned on Ron angrily. "I'm not going to forget what room I saw a man die in! Professor, did you have Professor Snape's body moved?"

Professor McGonagall shook her head. "I've not had the time to attend sufficiently to the living."

There was a flash, and a scroll of parchment materialised on the desk, accompanied by a single floating starling feather. Professor McGonagall unfurled it, read it, and snorted. "It's from the Board of Governors. They've appointed me provisional Headmistress until such time as they can select the most suitable candidate through the formal process, etc., etc." She tossed the parchment at the grate, where it lay askew in a pile of cold ashes.

The portraits on the walls woke up and began to talk among themselves.

"Surely you intend to take the job?" said Hermione, glancing at the hearth. "The school can benefit from your leadership during this..."

"Of course I'm taking the job," said McGonagall tonelessly. "I'm happy and proud to accept this position that I got on the death of my predecessor, a man half my age. Speaking of whom, I suspect it was Hagrid who moved him somewhere. Hagrid was in on the secret."

"Hagrid _knew?"_ Harry and Ron gasped.

"That makes sense when you think about it," said Hermione. "Hagrid's been here more than fifty years. And remember that conversation between Snape and Dumbledore in the forest? Maybe he heard more than he let on."

"Headmistress," said Dilys Derwent. "Now that you are Head of this school, you have the allegiance of the castle portraits."

"Thank you, Dilys," said the new Headmistress absently.

Dilys continued, "I should like to inform you that the body of Severus Snape was borne to St. Mungo's early in the morning of May 5nd. Apparently, he was discovered by his father in the Shrieking Shack, and he fetched some Healers who were also in Hogsmeade. They placed him under a Stasis Spell and transported him to St. Mungo's with the intention of attempting an experimental resuscitation."

"What was Tobias doing in Hogsmeade?" muttered Professor MacGonagall.

"Healers don't usually make use of resuscitative techniques?" said Hermione, puzzled. "What do they do when someone's heart stops?"

"No magic can bring back the dead," said Dilys. "But..."

"But if someone has just died, they're not _really_ dead; their cells are still alive. You just have to do some chest compressions, and..."

"As I was about to say, now we know that, too," said Dilys, smiling. "They successfully revived Severus Snape, and he's recuperating in the Nastily Serious Unit of the Dai Llewellyn ward.

Professor McGonagall sank into her chair, trembling. Hermione and Ron hugged, while Harry stood with his mouth open.

"This is so weird," said Harry. "I've spent most of the last year wishing him dead."

Hermione broke from Ron's embrace and retrieved a flask from an ornate glass cupboard. "Now you can return his memories to him directly." Wand in hand, she approached the Pensieve, only to be stopped by Harry.

"I want to tell him nobody saw the memories but me," he said.

Hermione handed the flask to Harry, who retrieved the memories from the Pensieve. But as he was about to stopper the flask, Hermione stopped him. "I saw Professor Snape do this spell in class," she said, pointing her wand, and the neck of the flask softened and folded in on itself before hardening to an impenetrable seal of clear glass.

"You won't be returning those to him just yet," said Minerva, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. "Medically fragile people aren't allowed to do magic. Here, we'll put that in the desk for safe keeping." She reached for a drawer handle, then snatched back her hand as if scalded. "Strange - he's put nasty wards on some of the desk drawers. Goblin wards - that's so like Severus." She took a deep breath, tears glistening in her eyes, and gestured at the walls. "Now we know why he didn't get a portrait."

"But wouldn't Professor Snape still be Headmaster, then?" asked Hermione.

"No," said Phineas Nigellus, his voice and expression reflecting evident disapproval. "If two of the Heads of Houses drive the Headmaster from the school, and he doesn't successfully defend his position, he is considered terminated."

"Even if we were mistaken in our assumptions?" said Professor McGonagall.

"Magic is affected by intent, but not the reasoning behind the intent," explained Phineas. "Considering, though, that you knew him since he was a boy, I'm disappointed that you couldn't read the signs that pointed to his true nature."

"But Phineas, Severus fooled Voldemort," said Albus Dumbledore. "And for all his shortcomings, Tom was a brilliant and powerful wizard, not to mention a man with a highly suspicious nature."

"But the Dark Lord didn't know Severus as well as the Headmistress," persisted Phineas. "After all, Severus was deceiving the Dark Lord about his true loyalties for the vast majority of their relationship."

"I believe that the Headmistress could see the signs but refused to interpret them because it was in Severus' best interest that she did not," said Dumbledore firmly.

Professor McGonagall turned to face the large portrait behind her chair and smiled sadly. "You are entirely too generous."

"When you visit Professor Snape," said Harry, "be sure and tell him I showed the memories to no one."

"There will be no visits just yet," said Dilys. "The Nastily Serious Unit permits no visitors except family."

"Let me know when he's moved, Dilys." Professor McGonagall sat down at her desk and picked up the 'Damages' list with a sigh. "Severus is such a practical man. We could really use him here."

Some days later, and Minerva was back in the office - her office, though she wasn't get accustomed to thinking of it that way - tidying up before going to dinner. It was the first day she didn't have a funeral to attend, though she dared not hope she'd been to the last of them.

Compulsively, she tidied the stack of newspapers on her desk. Between the grieving and the rejoicing, Minerva had been relieved to discover that the castle was, for the most part, repairing itself, and would likely be ready for school in autumn, assuming prospective students and their parents were. The parchment that listed the damages now had many blank spots, the ink on many of the remaining lines fading as those parts of the school became restored.

Minerva saw a movement on the wall as Dilys Derwent returned to her portrait. "Headmistress. Severus Snape has been moved to a standard room."

Minerva looked at the desk. There was nothing else requiring her attention that day. "What are the visiting hours?"

"Until nine o'clock."

Minerva grabbed a handful of Floo powder and was about to step on the hearth when her gaze fell on the stack of newspapers on her desk.

Two days after the battle, the _Daily Prophet_ published a casualty list. That evening, she had dropped by the office to fetch a book before going to bed, and she encountered a house elf about to discard the paper, and made him stop. True, she had supplied the list to the paper in the first place, but seeing the names and photographs of dead students taken out with the rubbish was more than she could bear. After that, the house elves thoughtfully left each subsequent day's paper on top of its predecessor, an affront to her natural tidiness, but also a reminder of the day-by-day return to normalcy.

Seeing the stack of papers, she laughed. They were delivered to this office - her office - daily, so of course it was Severus' subscription. He'd been reading a daily paper since he was a student. But he likely couldn't when he was in critical condition, and now that he was on the mend, he could start getting caught up on things.

She shrank the stack of papers into a tidy bundle, made her way to St. Mungo's, and found Severus' room. A piece of parchment was affixed to the door with sellotape and bore an all-too-familiar spiky scrawl: "No Visitors."

"Bugger that," she muttered under her breath, and spelled the door open.

She had prepared herself, but didn't expect to see him standing just out of the door's arc as it swung open.

His eyes widened upon seeing her. "Minerva." His voice was weak, but recognisable.

"Severus." Her voice was weaker than his.

He was wearing a short-sleeved grey hospital robe that opened wide at the neck and draped closely about his frame. His hair was clean and pulled back into a ponytail.

Over the past year, Minerva had noticed his weight loss with some vindictive glee. He'd never much of an appetite at the best of times, and she had assumed that fear of retribution from his colleagues had hollowed his cheeks. But now that he was standing before her stripped of guilt and winter robes, she could only try not to react with obvious horror.

The neck wound was the least of it, appearing to be more of a healed burn than a puncture or laceration, the skin appeared puckered and discoloured. No, it was the rest of him; his head oddly huge on a famine-thin body of sharp angles, bones so protuberant they looked like they might break the skin.

"Severus...I brought you your newspapers." She handed the shrunken bundle to him.

"Thank you. My father's been bringing me Muggle magazines. Erm...you'll have to unshrink them. I'm not allowed my wand yet."

Trying not to look at him, willing her hand to be steady, she unshrunk the bundle. He began to sink under the weight, his body trembling with effort, and she levitated the papers to the bed and summoned a chair from across the room to behind his knees before he collapsed.

She bent over him. "Are you all right? Should I summon a Mediwitch?"

"Whatever for?" he snapped. Gathering himself to a more upright position in the chair, he flashed a brief, tense smile. "Damn gravity." He reached over to the bed for a newspaper. "'Purge at the Ministry.' My Healer says if he took any interest in politics, he'd greatly approve of Kingsley." He smiled, the glitter of his sunken eyes barely visible. "They've sacked Dolores Umbridge. If I were still Headmaster, I'd offer her a job...let's see...yes, as Hagrid's personal assistant. Hagrid works much too hard, I dare say. Especially during the summers, when there are no students in detention to help him with the more menial and revolting..."

"Severus!" Minerva interrupted. "I'm sorry I called you a coward."

He didn't look up. "Forget about it," he said, and opened the paper.

"Severus..."

He lowered the paper, crumpling it in his lap. "What do you want me to say? I accept your apology. Do you want a hug?" He lifted another paper from the pile. "'The Chosen One and the Death Eater Spy: How Severus Snape Helped Ensure Harry Potter's Victory.' Hmm...my photo is as big as Potter's."

"Harry wanted you to know..."

"I'm sure he's treating my memories with respect," he interrupted. "He's too damn noble to do anything else."

"He wants to return them to you at the earliest opportunity."

"He'll have to wait a little longer. I'll not have him visiting me here." He picked up another paper, but didn't look at it. "Needless to say, I've had time to think, and get used to the idea of people knowing certain...facts about me." He flushed slightly, but looked directly at Minerva. "There's no point in regretting these things. I've decided my only regret is not seeing the final battle."

Minerva said, "I'd be happy to show you my memories of it in Albus's Pensieve."

"I may take you up on that, Minerva. But I haven't decided if I want to come back to Hogwarts. I haven't decided...much."

"If you wanted your old job back, Horace would like to retire." She looked at him sharply. "Did you _really_ want the Defence Against the Dark Arts position, or was that part of the deception?"

He smiled. "I wouldn't mind keeping some of the few secrets I have left. As for the job offer, I'll think about it."

"You have to come back to Hogwarts, if only to open some drawers in my desk. They're rather stuck."

"Oh!" He put a hand to his mouth. "I was going to retrieve those." He tossed the papers in his lap to the floor and folded his hands. "I had thought for a long time that I would not survive past the end of this war. But over the past year, I suppose the, ah, proximity of my probable demise was beginning to sink in, so I thought I might prepare some sort of legacy. Something entirely for myself, having nothing to do with Potter. I had just finished it, and it's on various parchments in those drawers."

"Oh, Severus!" She was smiling broadly. "Did you write a book?"

He leaned back in the chair and lifted another paper from the bed. "'Was He Playing Both Sides Against the Middle? Some Death Eaters Think So. An Exclusive from Azkaban.' That's a particularly terrible picture of me. I look like a vampire." He snorted. "Rita Skeeter. I'm so surprised."

"Is it an autobiography?"

"Certainly not! Living through it once was bad enough."

A Mediwitch came into the room bearing a goblet. "Time for your potion. And then you will eat, Professor. If I have to prise your jaws apart."

"That won't be necessary," he muttered.

"Where's your father today?" asked the Mediwitch.

Severus shrugged. "I think he's off trying to find out if St. Mungo's is covered by the National Health Service." He accepted the goblet from the Mediwitch and took a sip. A flush came into his pinched cheeks. "It's especially disgusting today. They must have made it properly for once."

"I'll send your compliments along to the Potions master," said the Mediwitch breezily. "Hello, Professor McGonagall. I'm afraid visiting hours are over." She pointed her wand at the air in front of Severus, and a tray bearing a chicken dinner materialised there.

He poked at the food with a fork. "Why does hospital food taste the way the place smells?"

The Mediwitch pointed her wand at his nose. "You will clean your plate by the time I return, or I will force you to have seconds. And an extra large pudding."

He lifted a forkful of mashed potatoes. "I thought you people were supposed to be caring."

She bent over him. "Those potatoes look dry. Would you like more butter for them?"

He glared in reply.

She turned to Minerva, who was slipping out the door. "Professor...Headmistress I should say. How's Hogwarts? My nephew wants to start there in September."

"He should be able to. The ability of the school to repair itself has astonished even those of us..."

The door closed behind the two women. Severus flipped up an arm of the chair and slid out from under the tray of food, trying not to land on his arse - the lack of flesh made that painful - and slowly stood. Standing made him dizzy and nauseated, but there was no way in hell he was going to continue lying in that bed a minute longer, Mediwitches taking care of his bodily functions magically, if he could walk to the toilet.

He stepped carefully to the bed and began rifling through the newspapers until he arrived at the edition he knew had to be there:

HOGWARTS CASUALTIES

Death Toll Likely to Increase as Many Critical Taken to St. Mungo's

He climbed into the bed, opened the paper, and began to read.

ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

It's not quite finished, but this will probably be the last chapter for a while. I have gone back to school and won't have any free time for months, though there's a remote possibility that I'll complete this over the Christmas break.

Notes:

When Severus says, "I'm not only just merely dead, I'm really most sincerely dead," he's paraphrasing the coroner in _The Wizard of Oz,_ that movie where the wizard turns out to be a Muggle. In my personal Potterverse, Severus and Lily saw it together when they were children.

"Asystole" is the Muggle medical term for a lack of heartbeat, though I've left out a lot of the medical detail that would go into reviving a pulseless person. According to one of my textbooks, the chances of reviving someone who has flatlined are one percent if they are found outside the hospital, and ten percent if the cardiac arrest occurs in hospital. The odds improve if the underlying cause is treated, and the wizards did that, of course.


	10. Chapter 10

Severus arrived at a muddy field near Ottery St. Catchpole around mid-morning on a day late in the summer, soon after his discharge from St. Mungo's. Despite the morass of shoe-sucking mud that appeared to surround him, the ground felt strangely firm beneath his feet. A nearby patch of cow dung did not have any scent, though it looked fresh and he was downwind. He peered at the copse of trees from which he had emerged after Apparating here, searching for telltale distortions, a mismatch of the line of the horizon. His neck still didn't allow much lateral movement, and he had to turn his entire body to see what was about himself. When he finished turning completely, Bill Weasley was striding towards him.

They gazed at each other impassively for a moment, and Bill said, "We should have known the head of Slytherin House wouldn't be killed by a snake."

Severus replied, "Yes. When I wasn't preoccupied by all the bleeding, I was reflecting on the irony of my demise." He nodded at Bill. "Likewise, I was surprised to hear you'd survived. Greyback insisted he'd killed you."

"We blood traitors aren't so easy to kill," replied Bill waggishly. He gestured with his wand, and the Burrow shimmered into appearance as the surrounding wards dropped away.

"Mum will make you eat something," said Bill, restoring the wards as the two men walked towards the house. "She was insulted by your refusal of all those meals at Grimmauld Place."

"I had that reputation as a _bastard_ to maintain," said Severus, allowing a note of petulance to enter his voice.

Bill raised an eyebrow and pursed his scarred lips. "You played your part well," he retorted, pulling open the door, gesturing for Severus to enter. Bill stayed outside, fumbling in pockets of his robes before stepping around the corner of the house and out of sight.

Molly Weasley stood on the other side. "Welcome to my home Severus." She smiled warmly, if a little uneasily, and smoothed her robes with her hands. "There are certain precautions we are still taking." She pointed her wand at his face.

He nodded, spreading his empty hands.

She swallowed hard. "What did you say after George ... and Fred left the school in their sixth year?"

He replied quietly, "I told you they were talented Potions makers, and I would accept them into my Newt class if they should return for their seventh year." He looked away. "Molly...I am sorry for your loss."

She pulled open the door, and he allowed himself to be dragged into her embrace. "Thank you, Severus. For everything." She led him to the table in the nearby kitchen, where the room's only other occupant was regarding him curiously with bright green eyes.

"I've set an Imperturbable Charm," said Molly, patting Harry on the shoulder, and she trotted up the stairs, the sound of her footfalls vanishing as the charm closed in behind her retreat.

The two men regarded each other across the table.

"You really said Fred and George were talented Potions makers?" asked Harry.

"What do you think Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes were?" retorted Severus.

Harry nodded. "That makes sense. Would you like some tea?" he asked, too brightly. "You need to mind the sugar – George Transfigured some of it into powdered carbon dioxide, so when it hits hot tea..."

"You have something of mine," said Severus abruptly.

"Of course, of course." Harry fumbled in the pockets of his jeans and brought out a Muggle coin. With a touch of his wand, it transformed into a flask containing a misty swirling substance. The mouth of the flask was sealed over with a distortion of hardened molten glass.

"I didn't show the memories to anybody," said Harry quickly. "Not even to my closest..."

"You didn't have to tell anybody anything," said Severus in a low voice. "Dumbledore left encrypted memories to the Unspeakable in the Order. Memories that person would be able to see upon the Dark Lord's death, that would serve to exonerate me, on the off chance that I should survive the war."

Harry gazed steadily back at the Potions Master, quelling an impulse to cringe like a first-year who'd botched a simple potion. "How would I even know that?" he replied with forced calm. After years of despising this man, culminating in the months of white-hot rage that drove him between Dumbledore's death and the final battle, he thought his capacity for anger had burned itself out. But maybe the former Death Eater would surprise him.

"I gave you those memories thinking I was a dead man," continued Severus. "Those memories were for you, and only you, so that you would finish the job."

"By revealing what was in the memories, I thought I was redeeming..."

_ "Why the hell would I care what people thought?" _the Potions master hissed. "If not for the actions of my meddlesome father, I'd be dead."

Harry started to protest, but Severus wouldn't let him speak. "Once again, it's all about you, Potter. _You _would feel badly about everybody believing I was evil for ever and ever. _You _couldn't live with that."

"But it goes the other way, doesn't it?" retorted Harry. "If you were dead and therefore didn't care what people thought, then what does it matter whether people know you loved my mother?" Harry folded his arms.

"They were not your memories, to do with as you liked," countered Severus, his pale face pinking.

"I know that," said Harry. "That's why I didn't show them to anybody."

"You didn't have to, did you? No, you only told everybody all about what you saw. I can't pick up the newspaper or turn on the Wizarding Wireless without discovering new revelations about myself. I can't walk down Diagon Alley without people asking me about my mother – or yours." He paused, his throat hurting, and sipped tea, sighing inwardly. After weeks of the enforced boredom of convalescence, he had actually been looking forward to this confrontation with Potter. But whenever he became angry these day, it dissipated as pain and weakness asserted itself, and he ended feeling no more than a sense of frustration at the futility of his current life. The terrible mission that had been a rod across his back for nearly two decades was over, and when it ended, so did his sense of purpose. Looking at Potter across the table, he wondered if he, Potter, felt the same. Asking was out of the question, of course.

Harry grinned. "Welcome to my world, Professor."

Severus sneered and took out his wand, wordlessly directing a spell at the lump of glass stoppering the flask of memories. The distorted glass softened, melted, and straightened, solidifying as an open flask neck. Severus restored the memories into his head, wincing as the full emotional impact of these memories spread out among the depth and breadth of everything else he had ever lived. By the time he finished, his hand was trembling slightly and Harry looked discreetly away as his former second-worst enemy stood and paced about the kitchen, taking deep breaths to calm himself.

"I'm sorry I can't return your mother's Potions book, Professor," said Harry tentatively. "It must have burnt up in the fire."

"I fetched it months ago, Potter."

"I...erm..."

"People were hiding objects in that room for a millennium." He scowled at Harry. "Every generation of students thinks they are the first to discover it, and continue to think so even when standing surrounded by heaps of objects that have been there since before Chaucer." Walking to the foot of the staircase, he lowered the Imperturbable Charm and spoke up the stairs. "Thank you for the tea, Molly. I must be off."

Harry stood, toppling his chair. "I used _Expelliarmus. _That _you_ taught me."

Severus half-turned, and for a brief moment, Harry thought he saw a genuine smile flicker across Severus' face.

"Ironic, isn't it, Potter," said Severus thoughtfully, "that three of you would cast it on me and I would only suffer a concussion, but from just one of you casting it, the Dark Lord would die."

"Well...you didn't cast a killing curse on us that we were hoping to deflect, Professor."

"It's not that I didn't think of it," retorted Severus.

Harry snorted. "That's ridiculous. You always protected students, and what's more, you never _really _hated me. You only wished you did." Harry said it on the spur of the moment, but from Severus' reaction, he realized he'd stumbled onto the truth, as the Potions Master gripped the back of a chair and turned whiter than Harry thought possible.

"Professor..."

"Stop calling me that."

"What _do_ I call you, anyway?"

"Call me whatever you like. I won't be around to hear it."

"Where will you go? What will you do?"

"First, I'm off to Hogwarts. The Headmistress is having trouble with a sticky drawer in her desk. After that..."

"A sticky drawer in the Headmistress' desk?" repeated Harry, frowning.

Molly Apparated to the foot of the staircase. "Your meeting with Minerva isn't until two o'clock. You may as well stay for lunch, Severus." Bill, Ginny, Ron and Hermione, acting nonchalant, came padding slowly down the staircase.

"I won't impose on your hospitality any further, Molly." Severus ignored the new arrivals. All he wanted to do was Apparate somewhere where there was no one to look at him; no one to stare speculatively, their manifestly false expressions of concern an open window on their simple-minded and prurient curiosity as they asked their intrusive personal questions. These days, any questions people asked him were personal, even those coming from Aurors.

And the people like Molly, who really cared about him, were worse. The weight of all this sympathy was filling up in his chest like a slow-running faucet.

"You've been around Death Eaters too much," said Bill mildly. "You need to get used to being around normal people." But Bill's gaze said, _Don't offend mum's hospitality._

"There's no such thing as normal people," countered Severus. But Bill was right, actually. His entire social life, such as it was, had consisted of Death Eaters since his early twenties. And Death Eaters' wives. And their daughters. He shoved these thoughts away as if he were hiding them from a powerful and malevolent Legilimens. Besides, it wasn't as if he had anything else to do for the next two hours. "Since you insist, I'll grace you with my charming presence at lunch."

Severus braced himself for an awkward meal, where everybody would try and make him comfortable by chattering incessantly, being overly solicitous, offering him more food than he could eat in a week of lunches. But to his relief, they were all preoccupied with their own dramas. And everyone, including himself, was very hungry.

"Is it true the goblins are completely re-thinking security since we broke in?" asked Hermione, reaching for another biscuit.

Bill chuckled. "You know I can't talk about that."

"The old pureblood families are insisting on it," said George. "The ones not in Azkaban, at least."

"And how would _you_ know this?" asked Ginny.

"I'm a businessman," replied George loftily. "I keep abreast of fiduciary matters in my community."

"Overheard it in the shop, did you?" said Hermione. "The wealthy old families must be horrified, what with a Mudblood breaking into a vault guarded by a dragon."

"Charlie has always been unhappy about the treatment of those dragons," remarked Molly.

"Don't call yourself that!" snapped Severus. "Insulting yourself for the sake of a joke..."

"Do you see anybody smiling in here?" asked Hermione sweetly.

Conversation ceased as everyone looked alternately from Severus to Hermione.

"I have claimed the word," declared Hermione, insouciantly flipping back her shaggy hair. "No one can use it against me again."

Severus continued to frown. "Contriving an intellectual justification for an insult doesn't make it any less demeaning, or take power away from bullies and racists."

Hermione replied, "Perhaps, but if bullies and racists want to demean me, they'll have to come up with other words."

"By the way, did you ever punish Draco for calling her a Mudblood?" said Ron.

"Ron, we all know how he had to keep up appearances," countered Harry.

"I am capable of defending my actions myself, thank you, Mr Potter," retorted Severus.

Molly said, "Some of us will come to your defence, Severus, whether you like it or not. And if you ask me, strict discipline in the Potions classroom didn't do anybody any harm."

"Molly, I don't care what people..."

"You mean, it was all an act? You've been secretly nice all along?" Ron interrupted.

"Don't be rude, Ron," chastised Molly.

But Severus grinned. "You are correct, Mr Weasley. By vanquishing the Dark Lord, your friend has made it possible for me to reveal my true personality to the world. When I have fully recovered my strength, you'll see me going about Diagon Alley, patting the children on their dear little heads, and passing out sweets." He stood, nodded to Molly, and fled before he could hear any more of their grudging expressions of gratitude, grovelling false apologies, or damn questions.

Walking up to the castle from the border of the anti-Apparation wards, he paused by Hagrid's newly-reconstructed hut, ostensibly to catch his breath, but mainly to survey the damage. He'd read everything about the battle and its aftermath in the Daily Prophet, supplemented by detailed reports sent by Minerva, enclosing Hogwarts internal documents on the state of the castle and what was needed for its repair, prefaced by personal notes asking about the progress of his recovery and dropping broad hints as to how valued his expertise would be, given his extensive knowledge of Dark Spells, and suchlike.

He resumed a slow pace up towards the castle. But as he drew nearer, the extent of the damage became more clearly apparent, and brought him to a standstill.

Construction elves swarmed over the structure, their buttercup yellow tricorn hats disappearing and reappearing as they Apparated about, lifting blocks, mortar, cornices, flying buttresses and so forth, and spelling them into place.

Parts of the roof shone with a bright copper gleam, garishly incongruous in patches against a backdrop of those parts of the old green roof that could be salvaged after the battle. The old and new colours shimmering into each other bespoke of protective magic, ancient spells with their roots in antiquity that had been newly placed on the restored areas. Similarly, on the walls of the castle, newly repaired areas blended with weathered brownish-grey stone in starbursts of bold pink.

Filius Flitwick paused in charming the stones being lifted to the remaining large gap and waved to Severus, approaching at a speed astonishing for so small a person.

"Severus, I should like to apologize profusely for my behaviour over the past year."

For the first time in he couldn't remember how long, Severus put back his head and laughed. Then stopped abruptly, putting a hand to his neck, wincing.

Flitwick stepped closer. "Now I really am sorry, Severus."

Severus aimed his wand at his neck and muttered a spell. "I'm fine. And I am happy to see you, Flitwick. I should like to collect that bottle of elf-made cognac."

Flitwick grimaced. "I didn't forget our wager, Severus. But technically, you did die."

Severus snorted. "If you're going to play the pedant, Filius, my heart stopped, but my brain did not die. And here I stand, capable of enjoying cognac. Technically speaking."

"No magic could have saved you," countered Flitwick.

"I don't recall, 'if you're dead to the point where magic can't save you but Muggle resuscitation can, it counts as dead' being part of our wager. I am not deceased, demised, pushing up daisies, shuffled off this mortal coil. Ergo, you owe me a bottle of staggeringly expensive cognac. And I'd best be off to see Minerva."

"Fine then," said Flitwick. "And I'd best get back to work." With a flourish, Flitwick gestured with his wand, and eight blocks lifted together, fitted tightly like matching puzzle pieces, and slotted into a matching space remaining in a damaged wall, the area glowing with residual magic, elves applying further protective spells with trowels.

"Severus."

He was already walking away, and stopped, turned.

"I just have to fetch it from Rosmerta. Drop by on Friday, I need to go to Gringotts on Thursday anyway.

"That would be acceptable," said Severus. "But if I may say, you've had four months."

"Yes, well, some of us haven't been lying about in a hospital bed, being administered to by Mediwitches. Some of us have been busy." He turned to the construction elves. "You may go to lunch now. And don't return sooner than one hour. You don't serve this castle properly by doing manual labour on an empty stomach." To Severus, he said, "I want to walk with you."

The two men walked slowly towards the castle, pausing at times while Flitwick pointed to areas that had been restored or modified.

"I may lend a hand in the repair of the Come-And-Go Room," said Severus pensively. "Minerva said everybody was having trouble sorting that out. I have some ideas."

Flitwick nodded. "Whoever taught that boy Fiendfyre without the counterspell has a lot to answer for."

"He may well have been taught the counterspell," mused Severus. "In my experience, that boy and his fellow Malfoy minion retained about fifty percent of what they were taught. If they were lucky."

"If it wasn't for Draco, those two would have been going about in mastodon skins, I dare say."

Severus chuckled, but Flitwick looked grim. "Minerva is pretty unhappy about your...little deception. She feels insulted that..."

"Really, what choice did we have?" snapped Severus. "The woman wears her heart on her sleeve and has no Occlumentic skills to speak of. It was bad enough when Hagrid figured it out, but at least Hagrid is immune to most spells and had the sense to flee when he couldn't maintain the deception any more. Minerva would always stand and fight, even against hopeless odds, and her best defence against questioning is changing into a different species." He glowered down at Flitwick. "You nearly pushed it too far. If you and Minerva had persisted in duelling with me at the time I was fleeing, I might have been forced to..."

"It would have been awkward," said Flitwick, nodding.

"Awkward? You call that, 'awkward?' Bad enough that I couldn't save..." He flushed, stopped speaking and started walking more quickly.

Flitwick had to break into a brief run to catch up. "Charity?" he breathed, staring up at the taller wizard.

Severus stopped and glared down at Flitwick, his gaze cold and terrible. "None of you really know me. Do not try."

He continued up to the castle, leaving Flitwick standing in his wake.

He called to Severus, "I'll respect that. But most people won't."

Severus slowed his pace as he left the small wizard behind, and paused inside the newly-repaired front door gasping for breath, quelling his feelings of frustration.

Five minutes later, and Severus was standing in the Headmaster's office, looking slightly abashed. The portraits had burst into applause as he'd entered and continued to offer their individual kudos.

"Much as I would have enjoyed your company, I am glad you are not here, on the wall with us," said Dilys Derwent.

"Perhaps someday, you can return more permanently as Headmaster. Your wisdom gained from experiencing both sides of this conflict, and above all, your intelligence, would all serve as a steady rudder for this school, its students, and I dare say, the future of the wizarding world," gushed an effusive Phineas Nigellus. "After the Headmistress has decided to retire, of course," he added hastily, glancing sideways at Minerva.

"No offence taken, Phineas." said Minerva, blocking the view of the portrait behind her desk. But Albus Dumbledore peered around her head, beaming at Severus.

"I had always hoped against common sense that you would survive, Severus," said Dumbledore, his voice choked.

His tone wintry, Severus said, "Dumbledore, I avoided your portrait at St. Mungo's for a reason."

The former Headmaster bowed and departed, disappearing beyond the border of his frame.

"'Headmaster of Hogwarts,' 'Order of Merlin First Class,' 'Minister for Magic.' Every day I hear of a new honour that should be bestowed upon you, Severus. I expect any day to be hearing from La Grenouille Chocolatiers, wanting your photograph for a Chocolate Frog card. Not that you don't deserve it, of course." Minerva sat in her chair. "I'm not angry at _you_, Severus." She smiled weakly.

"I wouldn't care if you were," he replied mildly.

"After all, Harry and his friends had nearly as many secrets."

"True. By the way, 'Minister for Magic?' I hadn't heard that one; what madman proposed it?"

"Percy Weasley." Her voice was muffled, as she was bending over, fiddling with a desk drawer.

"Ever the boot-licker." He walked around the desk to see which drawer she was trying to open. "If I did become his boss, he would live to regret it." He pointed to the desk drawer, the lowermost one of four, at which Minerva was now pointing her wand. "I wouldn't do that, if I were you."

"What wards did you put on this drawer, Severus? Filius and I have tried everything we know, and if I may say so, that's considerable."

"Goblin wards. Before you'd succeed in opening that drawer, the desk would undergo a thermonuclear explosion."

"Thermo...?"

"Something that makes Fiendfyre look like a warm summer day. As far as I could find out, the goblins discovered it independently of the Muggles. We really should treat them with more respect."

She straightened up, leaning back from the drawer. "Goblins? Or Muggles?"

"Both, I dare say." He pulled the chair with her in it out of the way, bent down, and opened the drawer after a muttered spell, removing voluminous rolls of parchment.

"What would possess you to cast such a spell inside the walls of this school, Severus?"

"Unlike the Muggle versions, this bomb's explosion would be confined to within the walls of this office." He straightened, his arms full of parchments. "A pity if you'd destroyed these. I didn't have time to make copies." He shrunk the parchments and stuffed them into a leather bag with a shoulder strap, before stepping around to the front of the desk.

"If I may ask, Severus...?" She gestured to the leather bag.

Momentarily he scowled, then his face cleared and he stood as if lost in thought, a finger tracing the outline of his thin lips. "The past year has been very ... stressful for me."

"To say the least!" said Minerva emphatically.

"Right. Well, as a ... diversion, a solace if you will, I started writing down the formulas to all the dark potions I've devised over the years, and the stories around their creation. If I had died, the portraits would have told you how to open that drawer."

"You could have told me how to open that drawer, and I could have sent your parchments by owl post," countered Minerva. "You're looking much improved, but you've not fully recovered your health. There was no need for you to walk all the way up here. You are still much too thin."

"I have always been much too thin. Healer Podmore says I have the metabolism of a hummingbird. But no," shaking his head, "it's not that I don't trust you, Minerva. It's just ... these scribblings are a rough draft – I don't feel comfortable about anybody looking at them quite yet."

"Well, now that you have them, could you at least show me those Goblin wards, and how they work?"

He smirked. "Why would I do that? Besides, I have removed them. You can use that drawer now." He hefted the shoulder bag and started for the door.

"Could you at least tell me what you are calling this book, Severus?" Minerva asked, exasperated.

"Potions and Dark Magic. The title is, I believe, self-explanatory."

"I can think of no one better suited to write a book of that title – must you rush off? I have more questions..."

"Everybody has more questions. I could easily spend the rest of my life answering everybody's questions. And that's not just hypothetical – once the Death Eater trials get started, I'll be the star witness, I dare say. Minister Shacklebolt has already sent me an owl politely requesting that I keep the Ministry apprised of my whereabouts."

"Am I just anybody, Severus? Could you tell me, for instance, if you made that potion that Harry fed to Albus?"

He rolled his eyes and heaved a sigh, removing the shoulder bag and dropping it to the floor. Minerva conjured a black leather wingback chair and Severus slumped into it, briefly covering his eyes with one hand before facing her.

"I have a bit of time," he said. "I'm meeting a literary agent, then briefly with a solicitor, who is helping me stop Rita Skeeter from writing that book about my life. My father actually was talking willingly to her. I don't know what he was thinking."

Minerva started to speak, but he held up a hand. "The way the _Daily Prophet_ goes on about it, you would think there were no dark Potions makers before me. I've been credited with devising a Potion that was invented six hundred years ago, a fact they could easily have discovered with minimal research. That said, the answer to your question is yes: I did invent and brew that potion Potter fed to Dumbledore." He raised his eyebrows. "You're not surprised."

She shrugged. "It's been known since the first war that you made potions for Voldemort."

"Right. Well, the people who say, in my support, that Potter is as much to blame for Dumbledore's death as I am are only half correct."

"I always believed," said Minerva thoughtfully, "that you discouraged the use of wands in your Potions class to discourage the surreptitious brewing of Dark Potions."

He nodded. "Many Dark Potions require spells to transform them into their most malevolent forms."

"I _do_ know this, Severus," said Minerva impatiently. "Though I have always thought you took it too far with your disparagement of 'silly wand waving.' _Really,_ Severus?"

He grinned sheepishly. "I suppose if wand waving is silly, that makes me beyond silly." As if in demonstration, he took out his wand and muttered, _"Temporis."_ Checking the time, he said, "I really must be going now. If you want to know any more, you'll have to buy my book."

She stood as he began to walk away. "I imagine you'll donate some copies to our library."

"You'd best put them in the Restricted Section," he replied, and in a flourish of black robes, disappeared down the staircase and into wizard legend.


End file.
